


A Course to Steer By

by Faythren



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Grogu isn't going anywhere, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot Collection, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Season/Series 01, Pre-Season/Series 02, Sorry Not Sorry, The Force, sorry luke
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:28:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 33,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28529217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faythren/pseuds/Faythren
Summary: Mahin's life is simple. She works, gets paid, then goes home. All while trying to remain unnoticed by Empire remnants. It's not much but at least she's not constantly on the run anymore. Then a Mandalorian comes into town with a child. Her simple life is turned upside down once again, but a course gets set in front of her. A course pointing her out of the dark. One-shot collection.
Relationships: Din Djarin & Grogu | Baby Yoda, Din Djarin & Grogu | Baby Yoda & Original Female Character(s), Din Djarin/Original Female Character(s), Grogu | Baby Yoda & Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 43





	1. Setting the Course Pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was some crazy year, wasn't it? Personally, things have been difficult. As a writer, even more so. I have half a dozen stories started in just as many fandoms but I haven't found the motivation to finish any of them enough to start posting. My muse feels just as somber as the rest of the world right now. So I decided to change tactics. Or reuse a tactic, I guess I should say.
> 
> This fic will be a collection of one-shots set in the same universe and centered around the same character, like how I wrote Hold My Heart. I'll try to keep the chapters in chronological order. Some of the chapters will also be direct continuations of each other and will be labeled as such, like how this chapter has a "Pt. 1" in the title.
> 
> The main character of this tale is an OC of mine. She's joining Mando and the child on the Razor Crest between seasons 1 and 2 of the show. I started writing this fic when season 2 had just started airing, before Mando got the lead on Ashoka. And then with the ending that happened, well, let's just say that I don't like that Grogu had to leave. So, in part, this will be a fix-it of sorts. Though that's definitely not all that will happen in this tale. We'll explore my OC's background, watch as her relationships grow with Mando and the child (who will start using their real names at some point), we'll get to Mando/OC eventually, and we'll have a lot of fluff and misadventures.
> 
> By making this a one-shot collection instead of a fluid story with an overreaching plot, I'm hoping to make this easier for me to write and get me out of my writing slump. Where the ending will be, I'm not sure. But I hope it's not for a while because I'm looking forward to having a lot of fun here. I'm not giving myself a set posting schedule, though, so I'm afraid you'll just have to wait to be surprised with chapters at random times.
> 
> A little background on my knowledge of the Star Wars universe. I have only seen the movies (Episodes 1-9) and The Mandalorian show. I have not watched any of the cartoons and I haven't read any of the books. When I'm unsure of something, I research it. Like the Mandalorian culture, which has been really interesting and fun to learn more of, by the way. But when research doesn't cut it, I will then make stuff up. I'll try to do my best to keep things true to the universe, but keep this in mind.
> 
> Speaking of Mandalorian culture, I've had fun with the language, Mando'a, and will use it throughout this fic. I try to explain the meanings of the words within the context of what's going on but there will also be translations of the words used at the bottoms of the chapters they appear in.
> 
> Now, if you're new to my writing, I have a tradition of sorts. I always post two chapters on the first day. However, the beginning of this story is mostly connected instead of separate one-shots because of working to get my OC on the ship and settled down. It...took me a while and my muse refused to let me fall into the true one-shot pattern until my OC got on board. It doesn't happen by the end of the first section, Setting the Course, and the first section is four parts long. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is that I'm going to post the entirety of the first section today. It might take me a bit to do but you are going to get four chapters by the end of today. So make sure you keep a lookout.
> 
> Alright, my friends, new and old, you better strap in as we start on our new adventure. Go onward and enjoy!

The edge of the metal hatch digs into her stomach as she leans forward to reach the fritzing compression coil. One small part stops working and an entire ship ten times bigger than her meager apartment becomes completely inoperable. Not even life support will boot up. She twists her body to the right for a better angle to slip her wrench through the engine parts. The tool flops in her hand a few times. She lifts up on her tiptoes, reaching further before managing to catch the coupling. After a few strained twists, tongue pressed to the roof of her mouth in concentration, she gets the coil unscrewed and tosses the whole thing out over her shoulder.

She slips the new one out of the pocket of her coveralls, small hands working meticulously to reattach the machinery. She designed and fabricated this compression coil herself. The Rodian who owns this ship doesn't know that. Best not to let him know, either. People get twitchy when they find out she likes to make parts herself instead of ordering them in. Doesn't matter that hers always work better and more efficiently than anything the ship companies put out on the market.

Some people only like to hear "made from scratch" when it comes to baked goods.

With one last twist of the wrench, she falls flat on her feet again and straightens. Closing the access panel with a sharp _bang_ , she calls out, "Alright, Jabi'ri, start her up!"

Her boss—a Sullustan with large black eyes, light green skin, and standing just a touch taller than her despite being only four foot eight himself—flicks the switches in the cockpit to bring the engine to life. It starts right up with a healthy hum, making her smile in satisfaction as the ship owner standing behind her lets out a bark of pleasant surprise.

"Mahin, you sly dog!" Jabi'ri calls out in Basic with a deep laugh, climbing down the ship's ramp with arms spread out. "You did it again."

"I'm honestly surprised she did," the Rodian says shrewdly. Mahin didn't catch his name, just listened long enough to hear the details on what was wrong with his ship and then marched through the shipyard to get to work. "And in such short time."

Mahin rolls her eyes, wiping her greasy hands on the outside of her already greasy coveralls. Black splotches cover the faded green fabric so it spreads the mess around more than actually make her clean. But whatever, Jabi'ri hired her as a mechanic, not to stand around and look pretty.

He _especially_ doesn't pay her to stand around, actually, so Mahin turns on her heel and starts to walk away, "Just pay the shipmaster and you can be on your way. I'll collect my cut later, Jabi'ri. And if you try to skimp me credits again, I'll sabotage your speeder so it melts into a pile of slag the next time you decide to go racing."

"Aww, come now, Mahin," Jabi'ri jokes with a hint of wariness tightening his voice. "I wouldn't do that to my best mechanic."

Yeah, try saying that to her light pockets. She barely bites back from actually saying the retort. She needs this job, not just for herself. She wouldn't put it past Jabi'ri to throw even her to the curb for the wrong smart-mouthed remark, his best mechanic or not. She probably won't even follow through on her threat. Still, he knows very well she _can_ and so she lets her silence make him fidget on his feet as she pushes through the crowded port to her next job.

Three more ships sit in the section of spaceport under her responsibility. Two just need tune-ups, both easily completed in an hour. The third lists to one side with faulty landing gear. She squints at the top of the hull near the glass of the cockpit. It also looks like a missing primary buffer panel. How did this thing even make it through the atmosphere without burning up?

She sighs deeply, rolling up the sleeves of her coveralls and calling for a droid to prep the hoist.

Dozens of people of different species and shapes and colors putter around the spaceport of Ulta-7 while she works, all of their varying languages drifting over her as soft as the gentle sea breeze coming in from the ocean just a few miles away. Her mind automatically filters it out, focus singling in on her task. She sees ten steps ahead, puzzling out the problem with the landing gear and compiling a list of steps needed to correct them as easily as if she were simply planning out the steps needed to get dressed for the day.

Machinery comes easy to her. Always has. As if it's alive and tells her exactly what's wrong. Well, without the being crazy and actually hearing voices part. But she has an innate knack for figuring out the problem and finding a solution, never coming across a problem she can't fix.

Even if fixing it means taking it apart and making something better, she thinks wryly as she fabricates a new buffer panel in the shipyard's workshop, the sound of grinding metal like music that she hums along to.

Sweat trickles down her face, wayward strands of fiery red hair drifting around her head that fell out of her messy bun. She finishes the panel just as the sun begins to set and returns to the ship to attach it. It's a relief when she finally secures it in place. No more ships have entered her side of the port in the past several hours. Meaning she can go collect her share of the day's pay and leave for the day.

The booming hum of an approaching spacecraft makes her look up into the burnt orange sky. A ship comes in for a landing in her sector, metal groaning as the ship settles on the landing pad. She sits cross-legged on the ship she just finished, examining the new arrival from afar. Pre-Empire gunship, Razor Crest class. Mahin didn't even know any were still around. She's even more surprised that it's still functional.

The ship is beautiful, in an unconventional sense. She likes the design, similar to a Firefly with the engines extended from either side of the ship, but it's smaller and more rounded. It also looks old and ragged and singed. Definitely more than a little beat up around the edges. But she gets the sense that the signs of damage aren't from neglect, but because the ship is well lived-in. Loved, even.

That's the only way a ship that old could still work after all this time—a pilot who loves it.

The rear ramp of the Razor Crest lowers and a figure exits with an odd shine to him that causes her to squint against the brightness. The person practically glows in the light of the setting sun. He—or perhaps she, the glare makes it impossible to tell from here—must be wearing some kind of body armor. That, along with the gunship, makes her think mercenary or bounty hunter. They certainly get a lot of those out here in the Outer Rim. A lot of unscrupulous characters use Ulta-7 as a pitstop or hideaway since so many different people and species live here. Easy to blend in or hide or find some obscure supplies that can't be found in most systems.

"Hopefully whatever trouble you're looking for stays far away from me," she grumbles to herself, watching as Jabi'ri approaches the newcomer to arrange the ship's stay. They talk for a few minutes before Jabi'ri turns around, eyes scanning the shipyard before spotting her on top of her ship two spots down. He waves at her and she holds back a groan.

Looks like it's not quitting time yet.

Knowing better than to keep Jabi'ri waiting, Mahin slides down from the ship and briskly weaves through the crowd that finally starts to thin with the setting sun. Despite her haste to make Jabi'ri happy, her feet slow of their own accord when the new arrival comes into view.

A Mandalorian, wearing beskar so shiny and new he must have had the armor forged all at once. Recently, too. It holds hardly a scratch yet. With the blaster at his hip and the amban rifle slung over one shoulder, he presents a formidable and intimidating force. Like a personification of death and grace that not even an entire Imperial regiment can touch.

Her eyes widen, scanning him from head to toe in appreciation. Deadly and beauty often go hand in hand in her mind and this Mandalorian is no exception.

"Ah, Mahin!" Jabi'ri greets jovially when she finally shuffles up to them, his shifting black eyes and quiver to his voice betraying how nervous the Mandalorian truly makes him. "Just the girl for the job."

"What's up?" she asks her boss, shaking off her nervousness a lot more easily. Despite the emotionless helmet and the way he stands as stiffly as a droid, she knows a real person—most likely human—exists under that armor. A man not so different than herself. He simply lives by a different set of rules and customs and believes—a different Creed—than her. But that doesn't automatically make him someone to be feared.

People often forget that. But she's learned in the past year that Mandalorians aren't all about violence and battle.

"There's something wrong with the Mandalorian's ship," Jabi'ri replies, waving at the armored man. "Go on, tell her."

His eyes remain hidden behind his helmet, not even the shine of an iris peeking through the shaded T-visor, but she can tell the Mandalorian studies her by the tilt of his head. She lifts her chin defiantly, expecting some condescending remark about her height, her gender, her qualifications, or all three. "The engine has been making an odd noise the last few times I started her up," he says instead, smooth voice coming out slightly staticky through the modulator of his helmet, "followed by jerky sputtering. Then everything goes fine, but I'm worried it's the precursor to something worse."

"And you don't want to end up stranded out in the Black when that something worse happens." She turns her thoughtful gaze up at the Razor Crest, ideas already percolating in her head. "What kind of odd noise? Describe it to me."

"Squealing."

"High-pitched or low-pitched?"

"High."

"Any smoke when the ship sputters?"

"No, but I can feel it vibrating throughout the whole ship, almost like I got hit with something."

"Can you tell where it originates from? Back of the ship, center, an engine?"

He pauses, fully thinking it over for a moment. "An engine, the right one."

She hums in thought, an idea clicking into place. She calls out to a nearby droid, "Go get me a scaffold!"

"No droids," the Mandalorian cuts in darkly, as unmoving as his beskar. His leather gloves creak as his fingers curl into fists.

She lifts a brow at him. What could a droid have done to a Mandalorian to cause that much disdain?

Not her business, she reminds herself hastily, and shrugs it off. "I don't typically use droids, but in case you haven't noticed, I'm fun-sized. I ain't getting where I need to go without a little help."

He huffs. Was that a laugh? She didn't think she'd manage that this soon. A lot of the rumors about Mandalorians are untrue, but their natural stoicism definitely is. They don't like to show their emotions to strangers. He covers it with a cough. "Fine."

The droid scurries off, coming back a few minutes later with a scaffold and her toolbox. She sorts through her kit as the droid sets the scaffold up beneath the right engine, watching the Mandalorian out of the corner of her eye. She notices a rounded container floating in the air beside him. If she didn't know any better, she'd think it was a floating baby pram. Especially with the way the Mandalorian makes sure to stay between the droid and the pram at all times, like he's protecting it.

Nah, has to be some sort of extended weapon storage. If the Mandalorian is a bounty hunter like she suspects, then there's no way he'd cart a child along with him. There'd be no way to juggle all the responsibility, let alone guarantee the child's safety.

Once she tucks the tools she wants into the pockets of her coveralls, she nimbly climbs the rickety scaffold. It shakes a bit, more than what most people would deem safe, but she ignores it. Thing hasn't collapsed on her yet.

The Mandalorian shows a bit of concern, though, staring after her and grasping one of the poles of the scaffold in an attempt to keep it steady.

Reaching the top, she kneels on the platform, pulling out a tool to open the engine's access panel. She then dives in headfirst, literally, methodically searching through the wires and connections for the cause of the problem.

"Ah ha!" she exclaims to herself happily just a few minutes later, switching out for a small wrench. "Just as I thought, the regulator."

A couple of twists and the regulator comes free. She examines it for a few seconds and then tosses it over the side of the scaffold. Jabi'ri lets out a startled squawk while the Mandalorian calls up in confusion, "Uh, doesn't the engine kind of need that?"

"Not really," she informs him, diving back into the machinery to reroute tubing and wires. "It's really a rather useless piece of tech. Don't know why they decided the engine needed it. It just gums everything up until the engine completely shuts down. You're really lucky, actually. Most people don't notice the warning signs because they tend to be so intermittent and then before you know it, the engine completely dies. Then they waste the money on replacing the stupid thing. I can fix it easy without that, though. Just needs a few little tweaks and…done!"

She leans back to secure the access panel in place before climbing down to the ground. The Mandalorian stares down at her, at least a head taller, and she can practically feel his dubious gaze. "You're done?"

"Yep," she chirps with a confident grin, stuffing her hands in her pockets and rocking back on her heels as she meets his gaze through the visor of his helmet. At least, she assumes she meets his gaze. "Go ahead and start her up to be sure, then I can do the same on the other engine. So it won't break on you, too, later on down the road."

He stays silent for a few seconds before nodding decisively. "I believe you. Go ahead and do the other engine. I have some business to take care of in town so can you look over the rest of the ship as well?"

She glances over his shoulder at the rapidly darkening sky, barely holding in a sigh. That's going to take forever. But she can't exactly afford to say no. "Alright."

His head tilts knowingly, like an all-seeing owl seeking mice in the fields. "Unless you have somewhere you need to be."

"She can do it tonight," Jabi'ri chuckles, shooting her a pointed look she knows not to argue with. Doing so means pay cuts and going hungry for a few days.

"No, no," the Mandalorian insists softly, strangely considerate. Not for a Mandalorian, but for a stranger. "I'll be in town for a few days. You took care of the main problem. The rest can wait until morning." He reaches into a pouch attached to his belt, credits clinking together like windchimes. He pulls out a good handful to hold out to Mahin. "Here, for your good work."

She blanches a bit, glancing at Jabi'ri's frown before stuttering, "Y-You pay the shipmaster, not me."

He holds his hand out further. "You're the one who did the work."

Jabi'ri's large black eyes narrow, fists going to his hips. "That's not really how we do things around here, Mandalorian. She'll get her cut later."

"Too bad," the Mandalorian replies bluntly, reaching for her hand and stuffing the credits into it. He shoots Jabi'ri a _look_ tinged with a threat as cold as beskar despite not seeing his eyes. "She keeps the money."

And then he turns, gray cloak flapping behind him as he walks out of the shipyard, floating pram following along soundlessly. Mahin clutches the credits in her hand as she watches him go. It's easily three times as much as what she makes in a week.

She plucks her toolkit off the ground and practically jogs towards the workshop to pack up her things before her gobsmacked boss picks his jaw off the ground. Best not wait around to see if he's stupid enough to try something behind a Mandalorian's back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, Mahin and Mando have met. If you haven't guessed, Mahin will join the crew as mechanic and caregiver, something I've seen in a couple other fics before and I really wanted the chance to play with myself. However, she does have a bit of a mysterious past. You'll be learning more about that over time.
> 
> Also, Firefly will always be my favorite space western and I couldn't help myself by making references.
> 
> Alright, next chapter will be up within the next hour probably.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed, PLEASE REVIEW, and see you all next time!


	2. Setting the Course Pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, here is chapter 2 of 4 today. Remember, any Mando'a translations can be found at the bottom of the chapter.
> 
> Go onward and enjoy!

Mahin lives in a dingey one-bedroom apartment above the local cantina, The Flying Pig. It's got bugs and rats and the walls are so thin she can hear the raucous laughter and off-key singing of the patrons in the bar downstairs all throughout the night. But it's a roof over her head that mostly doesn't leak. She's got food in her fridge and she's kept warm during the cold nights.

It's more than others get.

Which is why she packs up a satchel with food from her own cupboards, plus some that she bought with the Mandalorian's money while passing through the markets on the way home. The sun has long since set but she heads back out again anyway, knowing the people she goes to see will still be up at this time of night.

It's best to go at night anyway. Less eyes on the streets. They've told her many times not to go see them during the day to limit her chances of leading anyone to their hiding place. If they're found, they'll have to leave, and Mahin doesn't want to lose the only people who've been like family to her in years.

She descends the narrow stairs, shouldering a door open to step into the wall of noise emanating from the bar. The nightly regulars are in full swing, drinking and laughing and talking way too loud for such a small bar. They have the best Crillian Nachos in the city, though, so it gets packed in here every night.

"Hmm, nachos," she mumbles to herself, eying the bar. The Mandalorian did give her quite a bit. She has leftover credits in her pocket, even after setting some aside in the satchel. She could afford to indulge a little.

Her feet point towards the bar before she can change her mind, her small size making it easy to slip through the bodies to grab one of the remaining barstools. She hoists herself up on the seat and flags the bartender down.

Familiar faces weave through the crowds as she munches on the rare delicacy of real, unprocessed cheese. Locals fill only about half the seats and floorspace. Arrivals from the spaceport take up the rest, all of them mixing together like old friends. She never feels the urge to join them, content with people watching. Too loud and drunk. She's never liked what alcohol does to people. Especially in bars since many drink more than they should. With quick fingers, she takes apart her nachos, hoping to get out of here before someone does something stupid, embarrassing, or both.

Something flashes in the corner of her eye, one person standing out in the crowd just a few feet down the bar from her. The Mandalorian. People give him a wide berth forming a bubble of empty space around him and the local he talks to. The local keeps looking nervously at the Mandalorian's hands. One rests on his blaster. The other on the back of the open pram.

She blinks in surprise. Kriff, he really does have a kid with him in that thing. A green kid with big dark eyes and huge pointy ears that look about three sizes too big for his head. He looks to be a toddler. Maybe two based on the talkative babbling sputtered between messy slurps from his cup of bone broth. But it's hard to tell. She's never seen a species like him before—at least not in these parts—although something about him feels strangely familiar. Like a half-remembered dream.

Though she thinks she'd remember something so kriffing adorable.

The Mandalorian finishes up his conversation with a frustrated sigh as the local makes a quick retreat across the room, clearly relieved to no longer be the focus of the Mando's attention. Armored shoulders rise as he takes in a deep breath. Mahin idly wonders if he's looking for a bounty as she finishes up her meal. Though, no, he'd have a tracking fob then. He wouldn't have to talk to locals in order to find a bounty. Maybe he's going from town to town looking for work? He has a kid to think about. Taking care of a kid while bounty hunting can't be easy.

He sidles further down the bar, closer to her, pram floating close to his side. He catches the bartender's attention with a wave of his hand. "I need information." He slides a few credits across the bar top to the bartender. "I'm looking for others who look like me. Other Mandalorians."

Mahin stiffens, eyes widening as she stares at her empty plate. Well, she certainly didn't expect that. Mandalorians usually only stick to their own coverts. What did he do, misplace his? Or is he looking for help, only trusting his own kind?

If he really _is_ a Mandalorian. This could just be some sort of ruse to find out where the covert is hiding.

The bartender looks him up and down while sightlessly refilling someone else's drink. "Can't say I've ever seen someone looking like you. 'Specially that fancy helmet of yours."

Her shoulders relax a little at that. Their secret is still intact. But she has a decision to make here. She can help, but she first needs to be sure he really is Mandalorian and not some schmo who took this armor off of someone because it's shiny.

"Gar echoy par ashi Mando'ade?" she asks, turning in her seat to face him fully.

You search for other Mandalorians?

His head snaps towards her, the air around him bleeding shock and caution. And the promise of violence if she says one wrong word. "Gar kar'tayl Mando'a?" he hisses.

He wants to know how she knows Mando'a, the language of the Mandalorians. Meaning, most likely, he really is a Mandalorian and he really does just want to find his people. Maybe he got separated from his clan somehow, lost, alone. Alone, and with a child.

Either way, it's just one guy. If he's not who he appears, he won't make it five steps before a vibroblade finds his back.

The Mandalorian's hand goes for his blaster again, losing patience. "Tell me how you—"

She shushes him, holding a finger to her mouth. He leans back, just staring at her. She winces a little. Yeah, probably shouldn't shush the dangerous Mandalorian with the itchy trigger finger. But the middle of a cantina really isn't the best place for this conversation. "Not here." She throws some credits on the bar and hops down from the barstool. "Follow me."

They weave their way through the crowd towards the front door, the Mandalorian a burning wall of anger and paranoia behind her. She tries to ignore it, stepping out into the cooling night and turning left down the street. She keeps her pace fast, taking two steps for every one of the Mandalorian's with his much longer stride.

She tries to ignore that, too. Ignore the fact that he's a lot bigger than her. That he can snap her neck with his bare hands before she can even blink if she's not careful.

But Mandalorians aren't inherently violent or mean-tempered, despite what all the rumors say. There aren't that many Mandalorians around anymore because of the Great Purge years ago, when the Empire tried their kriffing hardest to exterminate them all. Mandalorians have mostly faded away from public memory, and people love to embellish just as much as they love to talk.

He's just a man, not so different than her. A man in need of help.

She ducks into an alley and keeps walking, the Mandalorian staying right next to her as she leads him down dozens of twists and turns. "So you're looking for Mandalorians?" she asks.

"And you know our language," he growls, the baby making a fussy noise from the pram. "How?"

She looks back at him over her shoulder. "Because I know where you can find some Mandalorians." He doesn't say anything in reply, waiting her out while she debates how much to tell him. She has a pretty good feeling about him, though, and her gut never lies, so she decides to stick with the truth. "They arrived here a little over a year ago. Just one clan at first, acting as scouts for the rest of the covert.

"I was working at the shipyard when a mercenary ship arrived one day. The kind of people who will do just about any job, provided you can give them enough credits. Turns out they were on a smuggling job. Only they weren't smuggling weapons or drugs, they were smuggling people. I found them while doing some light maintenance on the ship's interior. I know ships—all kinds—inside and out, and there was something about that ship that didn't sit right with me. The dimensions of the rooms, the walls—they didn't add up right." She gives him a wry grin over her shoulder. "And I'm a naturally curious person, so I poked around a bit. Found the smuggling compartment. And a Mandalorian's blaster pointed at my forehead."

"Curiosity killed the cat, you know," he says dryly.

Her smile widens. Humor. Now they're getting somewhere. "Yes, but satisfaction brought it back."

He lets out a surprised huff at her reply.

She steps around an overturned dumpster, nose crinkling in disgust at the smell of the spilled contents before continuing, "I can be pretty charming when I want to be so I talked them down, got their story—as much as they were willing to tell me at the time, anyway—and then offered my help."

"Just like that?" he asks skeptically. "You just…offered to help complete strangers and potentially risk your own life?"

She shrugs her shoulders. "It's not like bounty hunters are after them. They just wanted a new place to settle down, someplace safe and quiet and protected. And I knew I could give them that. Besides," she kicks at a stone in her path, watching it bounce down the alley with a grim set to her mouth, "I know what it's like to lose everything and then try to pick up the pieces again."

She can feel him staring at the back of her head, question burning on the tip of his tongue. She waits for it. For him to ask. Everyone always asks what her story is, how she ended up here, why she has nothing and no one.

He doesn't. Just walks.

She swallows thickly, clearing her throat a little. "I, uh, I took them to a place I know. A place for them to be safe. Once the first clan was satisfied with the situation, they sent word to the rest of the covert to head here. I helped the clans find their way when they arrived and ever since then I've been helping them out however I can. In exchange, they look out for me. They kind of…took me under their wing. Not really as a foundling—I have no plans to take on the Creed—but as a…friend."

"And the Mando'a?" he asks, something soft in his voice, like when he told her the rest of the ship repairs could wait and she could go home. His eyes on her feel just as soft. She can feel them drift over her from head to toe and she can't help but wonder what he sees.

"Like I said, I'm curious." She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear before running her fingers over her head. Finding her bun mostly destroyed anyway, she yanks the hair tie out to let her hair fall down around her to just below her shoulder blades. It curtains around her, hiding her face from his watchful gaze. "I wanted to know. To learn. About their language, their culture. About my new friends, whatever they were willing to share. So they've slowly been teaching me some things. And I really like your language. It's very beautiful."

She stops in the middle of an alley that looks like any other, empty save for her and the Mandalorian. Graffiti covers a large portion of the wall to her right. It looks like a bunch of colorful blobs all running together. It might suppose to be a ship flying among the stars. She's never been able to tell. She runs her hand along the swirls of the paint and dips between the bricks, fingertips searching.

"What are we doing here?" Mando asks, head shifting back and forth to make sure they're truly alone in the alley.

"Supposedly, about a hundred years after Ulta-7 was first settled, they went through a bout of prohibition. The local magistrate banned alcohol of any kind."

The Mandalorian makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a snort. "I bet that went over well."

She smirks at him. "Yes, just about as well as you're thinking. Lots of smuggling and secrecy and hidey holes to transport all the booze right beneath the authorities' noses. Literally."

Her thumb catches on a spot just barely recessed into the surrounding surface of the wall. She presses down, a click echoing in the dark before a section of wall the size of a door slides open to reveal stairs going down into a tunnel. "Most people forgot these are here. Only reason I know about it is because—"

"You're curious?" he finishes for her.

"Something like that," she chuckles, grabbing a flashlight hanging from a peg right inside the door and turning it on to illuminate the inky black filling the carved-out earth. She leads him down into a network of pathways just as winding as the alleys above. The door closes behind them with a soft _thunk_. "I helped the covert close up most of the entrances. Made it look like natural cave-ins. Now there's just this one and one in the woods to the north of town."

"It's like a maze down here," he comments, modulated voice carrying up and down the tunnels for what sounds like miles.

"Yeah, it's easy to get lost down here, so keep close, Mando. Especially your little one."

He reaches out a hand to the pram, bringing it closer to his side. The child looks up at him with a happy coo.

"He's cute, by the way," she finds herself saying before she can hold it back. She looks up at him apologetically. Mandalorians can get very defensive about their foundlings. "He is a he, right?"

"I believe so, yes."

He believes so. Meaning the kid really isn't his. Well, not biologically anyway. She's honestly not surprised. She's not sure what an adult version of whatever the kid is will look like, but she can't imagine those ears fitting beneath the helmet the Mandalorian wears.

"Does he have a name? Wait," she catches herself, sifting through what she knows of Mandalorian culture. "Never mind. Mandalorians don't reveal their names to outsiders unless really close friends so you couldn't tell me anyway. Forget I asked."

"You really have picked up a lot," he says in appreciation, stroking a finger along one of the little one's ears. "And you don't…find our culture odd?"

"Sure, the Way you guys live by is different, but I'm not about to criticize you for being different."

It would definitely be hypocritical of her.

"Ah, here we are." She pulls a large tarp hanging on the wall away to reveal a doorway, motioning Mando and the child inside ahead of her. They make it only a few feet before another Mandalorian steps out of the shadows into their path, bulkier than her new acquaintance and standing a few inches taller.

"Stop right there," he says darkly, the red highlights of his armer almost glowing in the light of her flashlight. He holds a blaster twice as thick as her forearm in his hands, pointing it right at Mando's head.

Mando's hand hovers over the blaster at his hip as he slowly sidesteps to put himself between the threat and the kid.

And her. He shields her as well. It'd be kind of sweet if it wasn't completely unnecessary.

"Calm down, cowboys," she says with an eyeroll, stepping between the two of them. She glares up at the taller Mandalorian, hands on her hips with a disapproving scowl. "Seriously, ori'vod, this is how you treat all your guests?"

"Mahin," Luca Vin grumbles, trying to sound gruff but she can hear the hint of affection in his voice. Luca slings the strap of his gun back over his shoulder with a shake of his head. "What have we told you about bringing home strays?"

"Hey, you all were my strays once upon a time." She jerks her thumb over her shoulder. "Besides, I'm not sure another Mandalorian exactly classifies as a stray."

Luca eyes Mando up and down, still a bit wary. "Never seen you around here before."

"I come from Navarro," Mando explains somberly.

"I heard the covert on Navarro got cleared out by Imps."

Mahin balks. Imperial troops? The Empire is supposed to be gone now. How are Imps still crawling around everywhere? She's heard whispers but never anything as concrete as this. And if they made an entire covert leave their home, then there's a lot of them. More than the New Republic would have them all believe.

Mahin's stomach twists and sours. Things were supposed to be better now. Safer. The fall of the Empire was supposed to mean she can relax, but if so many Imps are around still, then someone must be organizing them. Leading them.

The Empire didn't fall, then. Not truly. Not enough. How much is left? And how many of their operations and goals are still intact?

"It's true," Mando says, voice tight with barely controlled grief. She focuses on it, allowing it to pull her mind out of her spiraling thoughts. "Many of the covert fell not long ago, in an effort to protect me. And to protect this child."

He sweeps the pram forward to bring the child into the light, staring up at the bigger Mandalorian with wide eyes. He looks back and forth between the two of them, trying to puzzle out the apparent similarities.

Is he old enough to get that they're helmets and not faces?

"The foundlings are the future," Luca recites, dipping his head towards the little one. "This is the Way."

"This is the Way," Mando echoes simply, like it's a truth that burns brighter than a thousand suns. "I was tasked by my alor to search for others of the child's kind. I was hoping your alor might know something to help."

"I have some stuff for the alor as well," Mahin pipes in, lifting the satchel on her shoulder.

Luca sighs, "Mahin, we told you, you don't have to—"

"I want to," she says firmly, pushing past him. "Come on, Mando, the alor's this way."

Luca lets her slip past but doesn't move for Mando, the two of them sizing each other up. Mando tenses, one foot shifting backwards towards the pram, waiting to see what Luca will do.

Mahin rolls her eyes again. "Play nice, ori'vod, or I'm telling your mother."

Luca pivots to look at her, giving Mando and the pram enough room to pass. "Aw, come on, Mahin, you know I'm just messing with him."

"If you want to mess with him, ask him for a proper sparring match. But wait until _after_ we talk to the alor."

She leads the way again, leaving Luca to his guard duty as they head further into the covert's home. Lights were installed in the ceiling in this part of the tunnels, making her flashlight unnecessary, so she turns it off for now. They leech power from the city, just enough to power this section of tunnels but not enough for anyone to take notice. Pattering feet and voices drift in from some of the rooms and side-shoots, a background hum a lot quieter than the city above.

"How many clans live here?" Mando asks, looking down the passing hallways and spotting some of his brethren, even a few of the foundlings.

"Five families total," she informs him, catching the sound of metal hammering against metal and following it. The alor is working late tonight. "Twelve adults and five children, all of them foundlings."

"Even smaller than my covert then," he says dismally. "There are so few of us left. No one knows for sure how many clans survived the Great Purge but…."

"Not enough," she agrees, offering him a sad smile.

It never seems like enough. They all lost way too much to the Empire. And the Empire still seeks to take more and more.

They turn a corner to enter a large, circular room filled with heat and soft orange light billowing out of the forge built into the center of the room. A woman Mandalorian works at the anvil, hammering something out that she holds in place with metal tongs. A low table sits at the front of the room near the door. Mahin and Mando kneel to sit on the floor in front of it to wait as the armorer finishes her task.

Mahin enjoys the rhymithic clangs of the hammer on metal. She can sit here for hours listening to its song, the alor's movements moving in a graceful dance.

Melinda Vin dips her work into a basin of water to rapidly cool before setting the hissing piece of metal aside. "Mahin," she greets without turning to face them yet, setting all of her tools back into their proper places first. Her modulated voice is soft and sweet, belying the strength hiding beneath the shades of her red and silver armor. Once her workspace is perfectly clean once more, she joins them at the table, kneeling across from them. "I see you brought a new acquaintance."

"This is a Mandalorian from Navarro," she tilts her head to the man beside her. "He's come here looking for information. But first." She slips her satchel off her shoulder, opening it to place the contents on the table. Ration packets, bottles of water, canned fruits, a new blanket she crocheted herself, a few small stuffed toys for the children, and half the credits Mando gave her.

"Mahin," Melinda sighs with a hint of disapproval, "you don't need to do this. We will be fine. We _are_ fine. You should keep these things for yourself."

The child looks at the supplies curiously, standing up in his pram. Mahin watches him out of the corner of her eye as he slowly starts to ease himself over the side of the pram.

"Tough," she says bluntly, pushing the supplies closer to the alor. "I want to help."

"You help even though you are not one of them?" Mando asks, not really judgmental or offended like she would expect. Mandalorians don't often accept outside help from strangers, but Mahin doesn't see it that way.

The child plops onto the floor, toddling over to the table to peek over the top. Despite the table being so short, the child still has to stand on his tiptoes to see over the top.

"They're my friends," she mumbles, shrugging one shoulder as she glances between them. "Alor, your covert has done so much for me since you got here. It's only fair I return the favor."

"You've done enough, ad'ika," Melinda says softly, reaching across the table to grasp Mahin's fingers in her gloved hand. "You brought us to this place. Helped us make a home here. It is us who owe you, not the other way around."

"Tough," she says again around a tight throat. "You're my friends, and I want to help my friends. There's no changing my mind."

"At least take the credits back. You need them more than us."

The child reaches over the top of the table, going for the pouch of credits since it's closest to him. The claws of his three little fingers clink against the tabletop. Mando intercepts quickly by picking the child up without a word to place him on his lap. Mando hadn't even seemed like he'd been paying attention to the child. He hardly even looked.

The child makes a sad little noise but doesn't try to escape, instead nestling comfortably into his guardian's lap. Mando looks down at the pouch with a tilt of his head. "Are those the credits I gave you for the work you did on my ship?"

Mahin bristles slightly. Honestly, can't she just be nice without any talkback? She slips her hand out of the alor's and gets up abruptly. "They're my credits. I do what I want with them. And I'm choosing to give them to the covert."

She turns on her heel to stalk out. When she reaches the doorway the alor calls out, "Ad'ika? Vor entye."

Mahin looks back. With the tilt of Melinda's head, she imagines a soft smile on her face, a face she's never seen and probably never will. But she's okay with that, so long as these people continue to stay in her life. "Aliit ori'shya tal'din."

Family is more than blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, some original Mandalorian characters. It's my understanding that Din's view of the Creed and the Way, what he was taught by his covert, is a traditional, even archaic, view. Bo Katan makes mention of it when we first see her in the series. Seeing other Mandalorians outside of his own covert teaches Din that he only knows one interpretation and that he can choose to live differently, to show his face. It's what ultimately leads him to remove his helmet at the end of season 2 and be at peace with it. I've chosen not to have Din meet Bo Katan and Ashoka in this fic, at least not how it happens in the show. I might include them eventually, but meeting them is the first domino that leads to Luke taking Grogu away. And I don't want to do that. I may have the characters show up eventually, but it'll be under different circumstances and wouldn't happen for some time.
> 
> But I like Din seeing other Mandalorians. Learning a different interpretation. And so, I decided to make Mandalorian OCs who will, in time, show him that it's okay to show his face to others. It'll take time to get there, though. I also really loved developing Mahin's relationships with them, giving Din and Mahin something else to help bridge them together.
> 
> Next chapter will be up in a few hours. I'm gonna break for lunch.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed, PLEASE COMMENT, and see you all next time!
> 
> Translations (thanks to mandoa dot org):
> 
> Gar echoy par ashi Mando'ade? (You search for other Mandalorians?)  
> Gar kar'tayl Mando'a? (You know Mando'a?)  
> Ori'vod (big brother)  
> Alor (leader, chief)  
> Ad'ika (little one)  
> Vor entye (thank you, lit. "I accept a debt")  
> Aliit ori'shya tal'din (Family is more than blood)


	3. Setting the Course Pt. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention, sometimes a chapter will be in Din's point of view. Like this one. I may even do Grogu's point of view eventually, that might be cute.
> 
> Anyway, go onward and enjoy!

Din watches Mahin walk out of the room. The passion in her burns hotter than the forge in front of him. Hotter than someone so small should be capable of. "That girl is something," he comments absently, a strange note to his voice that even he can't place.

Something about the girl affects him more than he thought possible, ever since the first moment she regarded him without the usual hint of fear most people stink of when in his presence. Then she uttered those first words of Mando'a and showed a respectful regard for his culture. Not treating it like some sort of circus act.

The change is…refreshing.

"Woman," the alor corrects firmly.

His head swivels back to her. Sure, Mahin works as a mechanic in the shipyard, but he guessed late teens. She wouldn't be the first teenager he's met thrust into the world too early. "Really? She doesn't look that old."

"Looks can be deceiving." Her skillful hands start methodically sorting the items Mahin provided for the covert, lingering on the blanket that's obviously homemade. "If asked, she'll say twenty-four. However, I suspect her age is closer to thirty."

Din pauses for a moment, trying to reconcile this new fact with the small, sunshiny girl he met this afternoon. Then he remembers her wariness of the shipmaster. The way she kept herself apart from everyone in the bar. It speaks of someone who's learned not to trust anyone and that sometimes it's necessary to scrape with tooth and claw in order to make it in this world. Someone who learned that a long time ago. "Deceiving indeed. She hides her real age well. Even from you, though?"

"Though she acts familiar with everyone in this covert, she's only known us a year. It's not a lot of time to someone who's always looking over her shoulder. But we don't ask. We respect her privacy, just as she respects that we cannot reveal everything about ourselves. As we all know, sometimes secrecy is the best form of defense."

His hold on the child in his lap tightens a little more. "What would someone like her have to defend from?"

"I don't know," the alor sighs heavily. "I suspect she's running from someone. And who's to say we won't give up her secrets if that someone threatens the covert trying to get to her?"

"Would you?" he challenges, for some reason just hating the thought of it, wanting to keep Mahin from that pain.

The alor raises her chin, as regal as a lioness. "No. We think of her as one of our own and will defend her as one of our own. She has shown no interest in taking on the Creed but…she is still our ad'ika."

Din runs a finger along one of the kid's long ears, eliciting a happy giggle from him. He smiles under the helmet. "I know how you feel."

He'd do anything for this kid, even before he truly decided to take him in.

"So," the alor says, firmly setting the topic aside, "how can I help you, Mando'ad?"

"I look for information on this child," Din explains, bouncing the child slightly on his knee. The child won't put up with staying still for much longer and he'd rather not have the kid poking around a forge filled with sharp things. The kid giggles in delight as he's hopped up and down. "My alor decreed him my foundling. I need to either raise him as my own until he is old enough to take the Creed or reunite him with his people. But I…don't know who his people are. Only that they were sorcerers called Jedi."

The alor leans back slightly, shock coating her voice, "I've heard of the jetiise, but only in stories. Their kind was said to have been completely wiped out before the Great Purge, when Emperor Palpatine first rose to power."

Din deflates a little. "He truly has no one, then."

A part of him, deep down in a place he doesn't want to look at—a part of him feels relieved. But he's also utterly terrified.

"Is it really so important to you?" the alor asks, with an amazing amount of perception that all Mandalorian matriarchs seem to possess. "That you find others of his kind?"

He sighs deeply, never really sure how to explain this. "When I say sorcerer, I mean that literally. He can do things. Things I'd hardly believe if I hadn't seen it myself. I've seen him lift tons of weight with…with the power of his mind. I've seen him heal people—fatal wounds completely erased in seconds without leaving even a scar."

"It sounds incredible," she replies in awe, leaning closer to peer down at the child. "Impossible, as you say, but exactly as depicted in the old stories of the jetiise."

"It is incredible, but he's still only a child. He doesn't know control or restraint. He once almost strangled a friend because he thought she was hurting me. We were only arm wrestling."

"He's a child." She shrugs a shoulder, so matter of fact about the possibility of a child capable of killing them all with the power of his mind. "Children don't know any better. It is up to us to teach them."

"That's why I'm looking for his kind. I'm looking for a teacher for him. Someone who can help him learn about the things he can do and how to properly use these abilities."

"It sounds to me that he knows what he can do." She stretches out a hand, holding up a finger to the child who happily wraps his little fingers around it. She lets out a fond hum. He's good at that, wrapping people around his fingers. "And quite well at that. What he needs most, I suspect, is to simply learn right from wrong, just like any other child. He needs to learn when to use his gifts and when not to, when other actions, or words, would be better. And that is something any parent can do, especially a Mandalorian."

Din's chest tightens almost to the point of pain. "What are you saying?"

"You are as his father," she says, repeating his own alor's words. "He is your foundling. Your ad'ika. So teach him. Like you would teach a child how to use a blaster. When to use it. When not to use it. The danger and deadly potential they hold in their hands, a danger to others as well as themselves. How it can be used to harm, but also used to protect."

He swallows thickly, suddenly finding it hard to breathe under the helmet and wishing more than anything to take it off. "I…I don't know if I can."

She leans back, folding her hands on the table like she's sitting on a throne. "You have the Creed. Use it."

"He's too young to take the Creed."

"But there are still many aspects of the Way that will help you. Teach him about our people. Our heritage. _Your_ heritage. Let the Way light his path, and yours. For the foundlings are the future."

Can he do this? Really do this? When his alor gave him this task, he expected to search for the Jedi for a few weeks—months, at best—and then hand the child over to them to raise. And that would be it. Din would never see him again. It would hurt, more than he's willing to admit, a whole kriffing lot more than it did when he handed the kid over to the client.

But he'd do it. For the kid. Because that's what's best for him. Who's Din kidding, trying to take care of this child on his own? He's no father. He can barely keep himself alive, let alone another living being.

But he wants to be good enough. He wants to be all this child needs.

Clutching the child close to his chest, he replies, "This is the Way."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, it's always bothered me that people in the Star Wars universe seem to have forgotten about the Force and the Jedi. It's not like Order 66 was that long ago. Anyway, considering the history between Mandalorians and Jedi, I figured some of the Mandalorians would at least have stories. And, yes, I know learning to control the Force is more complicated than the alor thinks it might be in this chapter, but, again, they only have stories. We'll get into all that later.
> 
> Last chapter of the day will be up shortly.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed, PLEASE COMMENT, and see you all next time!
> 
> Translations:
> 
> alor (leader, chief)  
> ad'ika (little one)  
> Mando'ad (Mandalorian, singular, son/daughter of Mandalore)  
> jetiise (Jedi, plural)


	4. Setting the Course Pt. 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter to be posted today. It rounds out Mahin's and Din's first meeting and gives Din a bit of an idea.
> 
> Go onward and enjoy!

Mahin plays with the children while waiting for Mando and the child to reemerge from the forge, kicking around a ball someone cobbled together from a bunch of old cloth and string. Sure, she could leave. It's not like Mando needs her help finding the way out. He probably mesmerized it on the way in. He may even want to stay here for the night, among his own people, and one of the others can show him the way out in the morning if need be.

Still, she waits, unable to make herself go.

The ball passes by her and she stops it with her feet, kicking it around the room with a laugh. The screeching giggles of the children chase her as she tries half-heartedly to keep the ball away from them. Their game has no real rules, just to kick around the ball as long as possible until someone takes it from you, like a game of tag. A little boy runs up to her side, his little legs stumbling a bit as he tries to take the ball from her, and she lets the ball go with an exaggerated groan of disappointment.

It's nice to see them so carefree. They foundlings have had such hard lives already, losing everything only to find a home with the Mandalorians. A sense of peace and security, but the Way of the Mando'ade isn't the easiest road, either. They have a lot to learn. A lot to overcome.

But still, the Mando'ade try to give them as joyous a childhood as possible. If only to help wipe away the ghosts of the past.

The little boy kicks a bit too hard, propelling the ball clear across the room. A large boot stops it in its tracks before it can make it through the doorway, all of the children—including Mahin—stopping in their tracks like they stare down a blaster.

Mando crosses his arms in front of his breastplate and she imagines a deep scowl on his unknown face. "Isn't it past your bedtime?"

"But Mahin is here," one of the oldest girls pipes up bravely, a helmet already covering her head since she took on the Creed just a few weeks ago. "We always get to stay up late when Mahin is here, 'cause it's the only time we get to see her!"

"And so you have," the alor says as she steps into the doorway, all of the children stiffening to attention. "But our vod is right. You best all get to bed."

"Aww, come on, alor!" Mahin pouts along with all the children, eyes sparkling with laughter. "Just five more minutes?"

Melinda looks right at her, hands going to her hips. "I believe it's time for you to get to bed as well, ad'ika. I know you have work bright and early."

Boy, isn't that the truth? And it's a certain Mandalorian's ship she has to work on first thing. Exhaustion starts to weigh her down now that she stands still for a moment, pressure pushing at the backs of her eyes. Yeah, sleep would be good. "Alright, alright," she heaves a huge sigh, turning to the foundlings. "You heard the alor. Time for bed."

Another round of groans. Mahin bends at the waist, hands on her knees to whisper conspiratorially, "If you're all good, maybe in the morning the alor will give you the presents I brought over."

That gets a bunch of excited gasps and clapping followed by every one of the kids running off to their rooms. Except for the little boy. He runs up to wrap his skinny little arms around her waist. "See ya, Mahin."

She giggles, ruffling the boy's hair. "Bye, you little rascal. See you guys later."

The last foundling runs off and she turns back towards the two Mandalorians still standing in the door.

Well, almost the last foundling.

"Hey, little one," she says, walking up to the pram hovering by Mando's side. She looks up at Mando for permission and when he doesn't say anything she holds a finger out to his little green child. The child coos sleepily, eyelids heavy, but he still manages to lightly grasp her finger. "Looks like you're ready for bed, too."

"We should get going," Mando agrees, like he already assumed she'd be leaving with them, and it puts a funny warmth in her stomach.

Maybe she made a friend? It's always hard to tell when a Mandalorian starts to like her. She's gotten good at reading body language and understanding subtext. Still, so far, she hasn't been able to really tell a Mandalorian likes her until they give her permission to use their name. And that means they like her _a lot_.

She nods with a smile, bidding the alor goodnight before heading back towards the covert exit with Mandalorian and child in tow. Luca doesn't show up again on their way out but she didn't expect him to.

They stay silent as they walk through the tunnels brightened only by her flashlight until a massive yawn rips out of Mahin's mouth. "What time is it?" she wonders aloud. She rubs her eye with a knuckle, mind starting to feel hazy as the call of sleep grows louder.

"Just after midnight," Mando replies softly, looking down at the pram. The kid lies fast asleep in his little nest of blankets. Mando presses a button on his vambrace and the top of the pod slides shut.

Lucky, kid. She's still got miles to go.

They make it to the tunnel entrance. Mando climbs the stairs first, finding the lever and giving it a yank to open the door. Mahin puts the flashlight back on the peg and then triggers the door to close. "Do you always stay out this late?" Mando asks as they head through the alley, the entire city eerily quiet. It's mostly working class living in this area, people who rise with the rising of the sun, so staying up too late doesn't happen often.

"Sometimes," Mahin replies, taking a more direct route to the main road this time without as much worry about people following her. "Usually just when I stop by the covert so, like, once or twice a month."

"Isn't that dangerous?" His head stays on a swivel despite Mahin's ease, always watching, always listening. "Being out here all on your own?"

Mahin smirks, glancing over her shoulder briefly. "I'm not worried."

She hasn't been worried in a long time. Not since she met the covert.

"So are you leaving in the morning?" she asks, trying to get a timeframe for when she needs to finish work on his ship. Adjusting the other engine won't take long but she wants to give his ship an extremely thorough look through. He deserves her best work. "I know you said you'd be here a few days, but I take it you were thinking finding the covert would take a while?"

"That is true. I thought it would take a while. Thank you, for that, by the way. I'm not sure I ever would have found them without your help."

She smiles, tucking a strand of her red hair behind her ear self-consciously. "Ba'gedet'ye."

She can practically feel him staring at her out of the corner of his visor. "You really like using Mando'a, don't you?"

"Like I said, it's a beautiful language, and I don't get to use it often. I practice whenever I get the chance."

"How far along are you?"

She rocks her hand side to side. "Eh, probably not very far? I know most of the basic words and phrases, but I probably won't be able to hold entire conversations in Mando'a yet."

"Ni gaa'tayli gar hibirar."

She turns to him with an excited grin, hopping in her step. She understood "I help" and she thinks the last word was "learn" so she thinks she understands. "You'll help me learn more? Really? So you're not leaving right away?"

He chuckles, so low the modulator of his helmet almost doesn't pick it up, and a part of her wonders if she wasn't supposed to hear it. "Elek, I'll help. And I plan on sticking around for a few days. There's a local Guild chapter here and I'm running low on funds. I'm hoping to grab a local bounty, fill up on supplies, and then I'll move on."

"Do you take him with you?" she asks, glancing at the kid's pram. "When you go out on jobs?"

"Sometimes." He follows her gaze, pensive. "Bounty hunting is dangerous, obviously, but it can be dangerous to leave him on his own on the ship as well. Neither option really works but I usually don't have any other option."

She bites the inside of her cheek, quickly mulling it over in her head before nodding. "I could look after him for you, if you want. Especially while you're still on-planet. You filled up my last spot of responsibility at the shipyard. The rest of my clients are sticking around for a week or more, so I shouldn't have anything big to handle any time soon."

He hesitates briefly. "You sure it won't be too much trouble?"

"Not at all. After I finish up your ship, the most work I'll have is helping the other mechanics out if they get stuck on something. The rest of the time I'll be spending in the workshop fiddling with some side projects. It shouldn't be too hard to keep an eye on the little one as well."

"Are you sure? He can be a bit of a handful," he warns, a tiredness to him that speaks of countless hours chasing the kid around all over the place.

"He won't be the first kid I've watched while on the clock, and he certainly won't be the last. I usually do it for a few extra credits, but for you I'll do it for free."

"Oh, no, I plan on paying you—"

"Nonsense," she scoffs, waving a hand at him. "Anything for a Mando'ad."

He shakes his head, cloak flapping behind him in the slight breeze. "You really are too kind."

The way he says it, she doesn't think he means it as the usual turn of phrase in gratitude. She purses her lips mulishly. "The world is unkind enough as it is. I don't mind trying to make it a little less."

Mahin comes to a stop outside of the cantina, Mando stopping next to her in the street. She shoves her hands in her pockets suddenly feeling awkward. "Well, this is me."

His head tilts to the side. "You live above a bar? Really?"

"It may not be a glamorous life, but it's a living."

"I've counted three potential muggers since we entered this street. I suspect the only reason they haven't jumped you is because I'm here and Mandalorians have a reputation."

"I have self-defense training. There's a local dojo not far from here that I visit a few times a month to keep my skills up, plus the alor gifted me with a vibroblade just a few weeks after they moved here. But even without all that," Mahin smirks, spotting movement on the rooftop behind him. "you're still not the only reason muggers leave me alone."

Mando must sense the eyes on him because he subtly turns his head to spot the figure crouching at the edge of the rooftop. Luca gives them a two-fingered salute that Mahin mirrors before he disappears again.

"He follows you home every night?" Mando asks.

"The covert keeps me safe. They all take turns following me home on the nights I visit them, but it's mostly ori'vod. He's the alor's son. Out of all of them, I've gotten to know them two the most."

Mando's silent for a moment, just staring at her. She shuffles her feet under the weight of his gaze, wishing for some sign of what he's thinking but even his body language remains as unreadable as his face, giving nothing away. "Well, we will see you in the morning, I guess."

She smiles shyly, an odd urge bubbling up in her throat that she hasn't felt in a long time. Still, the words feel right somehow as she says, "May the Force be with you."

"And you as well," he replies, reflexively like most people do. Not understanding the phrase's true meaning. Few do anymore, not even the New Republic.

But Mahin does, a secret she holds close and dear to her heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the idea of Din teaching someone Mando'a. He gets to use it so little himself now, since we don't know what happened to his own covert and we don't know when he might see them again. I figured he might find a bit of comfort in it.
> 
> Well, that's it for today. Again, I don't know when I'll post again. It all depends on how fast I write. I have some other chapters written already but I like to stay ahead. We'll just have to wait and see.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed, PLEASE COMMENT, and see you all next time!
> 
> Translations:
> 
> Mando'ade (Mandalorians, plural, the sons/daughters of Mandalore)  
> alor (leader, chief)  
> vod (brother)  
> ad'ika (little one)  
> ba'gedet'ye (you're welcome)  
> ni gaa'tayli gar hibirar (I will help you learn)  
> elek (yes)  
> Mando'ad (Mandalorian, singular, son/daughter of Mandalore)  
> ori'vod (big brother)


	5. Prepare for Launch Pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know about you guys, but my year isn't starting out so great. My grandfather fell the other day (the medical problem kind of falling, not the clumsy kind of falling) and then we found out he caught Covid (which may or may not have to do with why he fell). Suffice it to say, I need a distraction. So in my woe, you guys get a chapter!
> 
> Also, it's so wonderful to see some familiar usernames in my inbox again! I forgot how much I missed reading reviews!
> 
> Alright, this chapter picks up right after the last one. Go onward and enjoy!

Mahin gasps awake with her heart hammering in her chest. Cold sweat soaks through the black tank top she wore to bed. It clings to her skin uncomfortably like duct tape. Running a shaky hand through her tangled mess of hair, she sits up in bed with a tired sigh.

Nightmares. Again. It's been months since the last one, but they're all the same. Dark images flash across her mind, still, even after waking. Faces half-remembered. Splotches of red. A soft hum, pitch changing as it moves through the air, almost like an engine but the sound not quite right.

Screams. So, so many screams.

Dreams mixing with memories, jumbling together to create a tight coil of fear in her chest. She breathes slowly, deeply, but the feeling doesn't fade as the moments tick by.

The hairs on the back of her sweat-slicked neck stand on end. She stiffens, eyes darting around her dark bedroom. Moonlight peeks through her closed curtains, sunrise still a while out yet. Nothing stands in the shadows but she still can't shake it. The feeling that something isn't right. It feels like more than just remnants of her nightmare. More than just specters in her mind.

Something deep in her gut tells her that she's in danger and she needs to move now.

She slides from bed on silent feet, padding barefooted to the coveralls she discarded only a few hours ago. She pulls them on, leaving it unzipped so she can tie the sleeves around her waist to use the coveralls as pants. Her boots lie haphazard in a corner. It would be quieter to stay barefooted, but if something happens and she needs to run….

Mahin slips the boots on, lacing them up and knotting them as fast as possible. All the while ears straining for any unfamiliar sounds. The bar has gone quiet downstairs. It must be closer to dawn. Most of the patrons have either gone home for the night or sleep it off slumped over at a table by now. Still, she stays vigilant as she exits her apartment and descends the stairs, careful to avoid the steps that creak. Pushing the door open a crack, she peers one eye into the bar.

Utterly empty. All the chairs stacked up, lights off, floor swept clean as much as a dingy bar can be clean. No one waiting to ambush her. No one with blasters primed at the ready.

But the foreboding in her stomach won't fade. Instead, it pulls her forward, through the bar, and out a side door only she and the bar owner have the code to.

No one lingers in the streets. The feeling urges her left and she follows, trying to walk as casually as possible as her eyes constantly sweep the darkened alleyways.

She hears something and stops, head tilted to the side. Voices. Indistinguishable from here, but definitely voices. She follows the sound into a narrow alley that leads towards the spaceport.

"Spread out!" someone shouts, out of sight, but it makes Mahin stop dead in her tracks with her blood running cold.

It's odd, really. Voice modulators don't vary a whole lot. It's not like they each distort voices a different, unique way. It shouldn't be possible to differentiate between them, to tell what kind of helmet the voice comes from. And yet, as soon as Mahin hears this voice, she knows it isn't a Mandalorian around the corner.

She knows, deep in her bones, that the voice comes from a Stormtrooper's helmet.

Kriff, this can't be happening.

Not again.

Crouching low, she approaches the end of the ally, squatting behind some old crates taller than her before slowly peeking around the side.

About three dozen Stormtroopers swarm the shipyard, their white armor gleaming in the moonlight. Shiny and new and not falling to pieces like the Empire is supposed to be. The Empire isn't supposed to be this big, this organized, this much of a threat. Not anymore.

This was all supposed to be over. So why isn't it?

"Search the entire shipyard," the one in charge calls out, "and then spread out into the city! Find the child! They have to be here somewhere."

Child? What child? What would the Empire want with a kid? Of course, Mahin was just a kid when the Empire started hunting her so maybe….

"Hey!" A gloved hand grabs her forearm and yanks her up, spinning her around to put her face to face with a Stormtrooper helmet. The black and white makes such an angry contrast, the grill of the mask giving him a constant snarl. "What are you doing?"

"I-I," her mind races, trying to come up with an answer, with a way out, but the building panic makes it hard to concentrate. "I heard voices. Wondered what was going on. I'm just on my way home."

"Wait a minute." His voice pitches low in thought as his other hand goes to his belt, unclipping a puck like what bounty hunters use to keep the information on their bounties. He thumbs the device on, hologram flickering to life with the portrait of an unfamiliar face projecting into the air. He clicks the puck a few times to cycle through different people before stopping on one.

The hair is shorter, the face about ten years younger, but her hair is just as fiery red and distinctive as ever.

"Mahin LaMontagne," the Stormtrooper reads. "Well, well, well. We've been looking for you for a long time. Moff Gideon will be pleased." His grip on her arm tightens. "You're coming with me."

Mahin frantically tries to pull away, digging in her heels but finding no purchase in the cobblestones. The Stormtrooper from dragging her forward relentlessly. She lashes out with her feet. Kicks as hard as she can like she was taught, but his armor protects him from going down.

Until suddenly he does.

They make it no more than a few steps before he falls. He just suddenly stiffens, letting out a gurgled grunt, and then releases her to slump to the ground, completely still. A dark pool grows beneath him. It gleams red and black in the yellow lights flickering from the spaceport. The sudden loss of his grip causes her to tip backwards, landing on her butt in the grime of the alley.

Her pants sound abnormally loud between the buildings as she stares with rounded eyes.

Luca stands above the body, slipping his vibroblade back into the sheath on his thigh. Melinda stands next to him. Her Mandalorians, her friends, just suddenly there when she needed them most. Mahin quickly scrambles to her feet, throat tight as she launches herself at Luca. He wraps his huge arms around her, his large stature making him feel like a giant compared to her and so, so safe.

"What are you two doing here?" she sniffles, pulling back to hug Melinda as well.

"We heard Stormtroopers had landed on planet and came to make sure you were alright," Melinda replies, cupping Mahin's cheeks in her hands. "Did he hurt you?"

"No, I'm fine."

But that was close. So very, very close. Closer than she's been in years.

"Are these the ones you hide from?" Melinda asks, eyes boring into hers even though Mahin can't actually see them. They demand the truth and, honestly, Mahin doesn't have the strength to try to hide from them.

Not them.

"They are," Mahin admits softly. "The Empire has been hunting me since I was a child after. But I don't think they're actually here for me. I was just a happy coincidence. I heard them say they're searching for a kid."

"But they will take you if given the chance." Melinda squeezes her shoulders before stepping back, drawing her blaster. "The Imps have started to swarm the city. We will help you find safe passage off-planet. It is your best chance to avoid detection."

"No!" Mahin hisses, shaking her head frantically. "You need to get back to the covert, get everyone out of here before the Stormtroopers find you. They likely know about the tunnels and will be searching them in their hunt for this kid."

"Don't worry, the covert is already evacuating into the woods. Our only concern is for you."

"But—"

"No buts, ad'ika," Luca cuts in, pushing her back towards the crates. Melinda crouches next to her, shushing her again when Mahin tries to say something. "You two stay here. Wait for my signal, then move."

"Oya!" the two Mandalorians tell each other, and then Luca disappears back down the alley in the opposite direction of the shipyard.

Mahin and Melinda stay crouched behind the crates out of sight, tense and waiting. Mahin reaches into the hidden sheath in her boot to pull out her own vibroblade. Despite acting all confident with Mando earlier she's never actually had to use it before. She hopes she won't have to use it now but knows she won't hesitate if another Stormtrooper gets too close again.

She'll do whatever's necessary to survive. She always does.

But she doesn't want her Mandalorian family to suffer because of it.

An explosion blooms in the night, several blocks away and erupting into the sky. The force of it shakes her chest with the vibrations, so hard it feels like her ribs threaten to crack.

"He never could do things subtly," Mahin mutters, sensing Melinda give her a smirk.

Subtlety or no, it works, Stormtroopers shouting and running towards the billowing flames. Melinda watches them go for a few long moments before pulling Mahin to her feet.

They run, Mahin doesn't know where, but Melinda leads her into the shipyard, weaving between ships as fast as their feet can carry them. Mahin loses track of the number of turns they take, eyes and ears always on the alert for Stormtroopers returning, but everything stays silent. Eventually, Mahin realizes that they've ventured into her section of the shipyard and then Melinda stops outside of the Razor Crest.

"Alright, Mahin," Melinda says urgently, pressing her hand into the small of Mahin's back to push her towards the ship, "climb up the landing gear and get inside. You should be small enough to fit."

"Are you serious?" Mahin balks, planting her feet. "I can't just sneak aboard Mando's ship! Can't we just, you know, ask him if I can come along? He'd probably even say yes to you."

Blaster fire pings off the ship's exterior and Melinda spins, firing off a few quick shots of her own. The Stormtrooper goes down but a half dozen others runs towards them. More are sure to follow.

"We don't have time!" Melinda pulls something out from beneath her shirt and breastplate, a pendant of some sort dangling on a leather chord. Mahin doesn't catch what it is before it gets shoved around her own neck. "Take this. If he gives you any trouble, show it to him and you should be alright." She cups Mahin's cheeks, a mask so expressionless never looking so tender as she whispers, "Stay safe, my ad'ika. We will meet again. I swear it."

Tears streak down Mahin's face as Melinda shoves her towards the ship again, not wanting to just leave them. How can she leave them to this fate? But she can't help. She's not a fighter. Not like them. And she can't stay, so Mahin climbs up the landing gear with heavy feet, squirming her way through the tight space into the belly of the ship.

The compartment for the landing gear is small, just barely big enough for her to fit in without bumping an elbow against tubing or wire. The hum of the rear ramp opening vibrates through the ship, Mando presumably coming out to investigate the commotion. More blaster fire joins Melinda's as Mando joins the fight.

"No, you must go," Melinda urges him, even as the shouts of the Stormtroopers draw nearer.

"I'm not leaving you," Mando retorts with a deadly growl. "I had to abandon a covert once before and I'm not doing it again!"

"This isn't about you or me or the covert. This is about the safety of the ad'ika. Nothing is more important than getting the ad'ika out of here. This is the Way!"

Mahin bites down sharply on her bottom lip to keep in her sobs. Mandalorians and their self-sacrificing Ways, she growls to herself bitterly. Mando could help. He looks capable. Between him and Melinda and Luca, they could probably take these Stormtroopers just by themselves.

But they won't. Because this is the Way.

"This is the Way," Mando parrots, sounding just as frustrated as Mahin, but he still tromps back up the ramp.

To leave them behind.

The whir of the ramp closing gets Mahin going again, wiping angrily at her cheeks as she moves through the compartment. She needs a better hiding place. In just a few moments, the landing gear will retract and take up her spot whether she's still in it or not.

She worms her way on her stomach through the wires and piping, finding an access panel on the far wall. Saying a silent apology to Luca, she presses the tip of her vibroblade to one of the screws holding the panel in place. Never has she wished for her tools more in her life but the blade will have to do in place of a screwdriver. She just hopes the tip doesn't break off or Luca will kill her the next time she sees him.

Kriff, she hopes she sees him again.

The ship rumbles to life just as she gets it open and crawls through into the ventilation system. It's a little bit roomier and a lot safer, allowing her to lift up on her hands and knees. She crawls for a bit and then stops, turning around to sit against one wall and her feet braced against the opposite with her knees bent. The ship rumbles as they raise off the ground. The ride up through the atmosphere is rocky, jerky, forcing Mahin to brace a hand on the vent ceiling so she doesn't hit her head.

Mahin closes her eyes tight, heart hammering in her chest and wondering if it was all for nothing, if they're getting shot at right now and are about to fall out of the sky.

Then the ride goes smooth. She stays tensed. Waiting. Waiting for a crash or an alarm or something that means they're about to explode in a shower of sparks. But the ship stays smooth. Mahin imagines them climbing higher and higher into the sky, out into the black of space and away from the planet she's called home for the past eight years, since she arrived at the age of twenty-one with nothing to her name to scrape out a piece of existence for herself.

An existence made bearable by the arrival of the Mandalorians. People she started to think of as family.

But now they're gone. Just like her birth family. Just like everyone she ever gets close to.

She never should have gone there. Never should have let herself get close to them. She should have just shown the Mandalorians the tunnels and then left them alone. Instead, she got attached, got them involved in her mess, and now they very well could all be dead.

She should have left sooner. She was told staying in one place for too long could be dangerous. But she was happy there. Happier than she's been in a long time.

Mahin draws her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs. Then she remembers the necklace. The weight of it rests against her breastbone. Her fingers brush against metal as she lifts the pendant up to hold a few inches from her face, squinting to make it out in the dim light.

The tears begin to fall in earnest as she stares at the likeness of a Mythosaur skull, made with shining beskar. Mandalorians receive a pendant like this from their alor when they take on the Creed. This is precious to Melinda, and yet she gives it to Mahin.

Mahin presses her fact to her knees to muffle her sobs, clenching the Mythosaur tightly in her hand.

She always loses everything. Why did she think this time would be any different?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hey, my penchant for cliffhangers is back. I've missed them. *evil laugh*
> 
> You guys probably thought it would be a smooth transition to getting Mahin on Din's ship, huh? I don't like to do smooth for long though. Gives me hives. Exciting is a lot more fun. It's not like Mahin would leave Melinda and her covert willingly anyway and I really liked the idea of her stowing away. But don't worry, we'll be seeing the covert again soon!
> 
> I won't hold you guys in suspense for too long, so the next chapter will be up in a few days.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed, PLEASE COMMENT, and see you all next time!
> 
> Translations  
> ad'ika (little one)  
> Oya (Many meanings: literally "Let's hunt!" and also "Stay alive!")


	6. Prepare for Launch Pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week has been, simply put, a hellish week. Last chapter, I mentioned that my grandpa fell. Turns out, he fell because of symptoms due to Covid. He passed away days later.
> 
> I don't really have the gumption for much, so I'm just gonna leave this here.

Mahin jerks awake to find herself lying on her side in the airduct still. She slowly uncurls her limbs feeling sore all over but doesn't move more than that. Just lays there. Breathing in the dark.

She left all she knows behind. She's a stowaway. She's got nowhere to go, no plans, and no resources to help her.

Just a Mandalorian and his foundling who don't know she's here.

Would Mando help her? Help her get settled somewhere? At the very least, she needs a ride to a planet with a decent settlement where she can start over. That Stormtrooper didn't have time to report back that he stumbled on her. They don't know she was ever there. Jabi'ri might report her as missing to New Republic authorities, but even that won't last long before he and the police move on with their lives.

It should be easy to find a fresh start again. Provided she can get to civilization without getting spaced out an airlock.

Would Mando do that?

Muffled cursing echoes down the airduct. She tilts her head, spotting a faint glow reflecting off the metal wall from around a corner.

Perhaps it's best to just stay hidden for now. Mando doesn't need to know she's here. She can hide out in the ducts, only come out to sneak to the refresher or snitch a bit of food while he sleeps, and then she can sneak off the ship at the first port he stops at. From there, she can find another ship to take her wherever she wants to go. Or maybe wherever Mando's heading will already be a nice, quiet place with little to no Imperial presence and she can just stay.

More curses, louder this time, make her turn her head again, brow furrowed in curiosity.

Yes, Mahin will stay hidden until they land. But in the meantime, she'd love to know what in the world is going on.

That's when she notices the ship's stillness. Unnaturally still. No humming or vibrations from the engines at all. It's been a while since she last flew, but they are definitely not moving.

She shifts to her hands and knees, crawling through the airducts towards the light. She turns the corner and finds a vent, bright light filtering in through the slats. Sitting in front of it, she peeks through. A crate blocks the majority of her view of what appears to be the cargo hold. Mando curses at something, a combination of Basic and a few words in Mando'a that Luca has been teaching her behind Melinda's back.

Well, _was_ teaching her. She won't be growing her knowledge of the language anymore.

"Great, just kriffing great," Mando grumbles, something making a metallic _thunk_ as it gets thrown violently across the room. It tumbles to a stop in sight of the vent—a wrench. "This is what we get for not asking that girl to come with us when we had a chance, huh, kid? Now we're in the middle of nowhere and I have no idea what she did to fix the other engine. Not that I can even get to where she was through the interior hatch."

Oh. The second engine went out because of the regulator, then. Figures. They could have avoided this if she had just taken care of it before going home yesterday. She doesn't know his skill in mechanics but he must have some in order to keep a ship this old flying. He could, hopefully, get them to limping so they can touch down for repairs at the nearest planet.

Wait a minute, did he say he was going to ask _her_ to come along?

Mahin runs her thumb along her bottom lip. That…could make things interesting.

Before she can mull the implications over too much soft cooing comes from the other side of the vent. Mahin looks up to see the kid going for the wrench, picking it up in one three-fingered hand. The wrench looks huge compared to him. He tilts it vertically and it almost reaches to the top of his huge pointed ears. He coos curiously, lips smacking together like he wants to chomp down on it. Maybe he's teething?

Then his big brown eyes shift to the side slightly and land right on Mahin.

Mahin stiffens despite knowing he can't see her. He _can't_. The gaps in the vent slats are too narrow. He can't possibly see her from across the room.

And yet he toddles right over to her, wrench still clasped in his hand as he coos even louder.

Yeah, he definitely sees her, and he's not staying quiet about it. He drops the wrench with a light _thump_ and then smacks both hands against the vent.

"Shh, shh!" she hushes frantically, pressing a finger to her lips. "Quiet, little one. He can't know I'm here."

The kid babbles nonsense, punctuated by a giggling shriek.

Mando sighs heavily and then the clomping of his footsteps comes closer until she can see his boots. "What is it, kid?"

The kid babbles insistently at Mando, banging on the vent cover again.

She should back up, get out of sight, but she feels frozen, breath stuck in her throat as she waits because, really, it seems hopeless to try to hide from a Mandalorian on his own ship.

And a part of her doesn't really want to hide from him anyway.

"You see something in there?" Mando crouches down, head tilting curiously, and then his hand goes for his blaster when he spots her. "Hey!"

Mahin reflexively shrinks back against the far wall at the anger in his voice, curling her legs up to make herself as small as possible.

"Come out of there," Mando orders, voice dangerously low. "Slowly. And keep your hands where I can see them."

Mahin holds her hands out in front of her and gives a shaky nod, shuffling slowly forward to the vent cover. She bangs it softly a few times with the heel of her hand, trying not to startle him, but he doesn't even flinch. It pops open after the third hit and the kid coos happily as she comes into full view.

"You," Mando says, more surprised than angry now. Still, he doesn't lower the gun.

When he doesn't do anything else, she crawls forward out of the duct to stand in front of him, hands still raised. "I don't mean you any trouble," she murmurs, keeping her eyes focused on his helmet instead of the gun. Hoping she's not wrong about him and that he really won't shoot her. With shaking fingers, she takes off the Mythosaur pendant hanging around her neck to hold out to him. "The alor thought you would provide me safe passage."

Mando's gun lowers, just slightly, as he lifts the pendant in his free hand to inspect. He stares at it for a few moments, silent, contemplative, before he lets it hang from her hand again.

Huh. She half-expected him to snatch it away from her. Beskar is sacred to the Mandalorian people. For an outsider to possess even this little bit of it is practically sacrilegious. But he doesn't try to take it from her and so she puts the necklace back on.

"Them," he says simply, reholstering his blaster.

She blinks at him owlishly, slowly lowering her hands with the gun gone. "What?"

"The alor, as I was leaving. She told me to take care of 'them'. She was talking about the kid _and_ _you_. She put you on my ship."

Mahin gives a jerky nod, not really knowing what else to do.

"The Stormtroopers were after you?" he asks with an accusing edge.

Her shoulders raise towards her ears. "Yes and no. I…yes, I've been running from the Empire for years and, yeah, they wanted to take me last night when they found me. But they weren't after me, I heard them say they were looking for a kid…."

Mahin trails off, eyes falling down to stare at the little one looking back and forth between them with big, innocent eyes and adorable twitching ears.

They were looking for a kid.

"They were after you," she realizes in horror. "They really were just looking for a kid. How…why would they…?"

"I don't know," Mando sighs, shoulders drooping as he looks down at the kid. The little one reaches his arms up to him and he bends down to pick him up. The kid looks so small in the arms of the Mandalorian, so much bigger than him, especially with all the armor. A baby.

Why would the Empire be after a _baby_?

"I never really found out why they're after the kid," Mando explains, rocking slightly side to side with the kid nestled in his arms. "Though I'm looking. From what I can tell so far, it's some kind of…experimentation."

Mahin mutters some of those curse words Luca taught her, running a hand roughly down her face. She knew the Empire was capable of horrific things. She's heard of them _killing_ children. Even witnessed it herself a few times. But _experimenting_ on them? It's a new level of evil.

Of dark.

Mando sighs deeply, moving back to sit down on a crate behind him. He holds the kid in one arm, his right hand bracing against the top of the crate with his fingers curling around the edge. His head tilts at her. "So, what am I going to do with you?"

Mahin looks down at her boots, trying not to let her voice quiver as she mumbles, "I'd appreciate it if you'd let me stay with you until you get to your next planet. Then we can go our separate ways and you'll never see me again. In exchange, I can do the work on your ship that I promised yesterday, plus upgrades with the tools and materials you have on hand so your ship runs better than ever."

Though, really, she'll do that anyway if she wants to get anywhere anytime soon. They won't reach the nearest planet in days at best with the way things stand now.

Mando stays silent for a long time. Mahin doesn't have the courage to look up at him. Not that it would do her any good anyway. She can't see his face, can't tell what he's thinking at all. He might as well be a statue.

"The alor wanted me to look after you," Mando finally says, voice giving nothing away. "I promised her that I would."

"You didn't know I was here at the time," she tells him, knowing it's not helping her any but feeling obligated to give him an out if he wants one.

He tilts his head with a casual shrug of his shoulder. "True. But the promise was made. A Mandalorian never breaks a promise. This is the Way."

Mahin's eyes fly up to his, jaw set stubbornly. "I don't want your help unless you actually want to help me. I'm not some obligation. I can take care of myself. All I really need from you is a ride."

"And I'm willing to offer you a job."

Mahin opens and closes her mouth several times, fingers curling into the sides of her coveralls to bunch the material in her hands. "You what?"

"I was already thinking about doing it." He looks down at the little one, propping him on one leg and then bouncing his knee. The kid giggles in delight. "You're good with kids and you're good with ships. I could use someone like you on my crew. You take care of the ship, and the kid when I go out on bounties. I'd pay you a third of what I make. I was going to talk to you about it in the morning."

"And then the Stormtroopers showed up," she says dumbly.

He nods. "And then the Stormtroopers showed up and I had to get the kid out of there."

He really did want her to come with him. A chance to see the stars. Travel the galaxy. She would have had to leave the covert behind. Something she's not sure she would have been able to do. But now the decision has been taken away from her.

And now his decision is a lot more complicated than he thought it was.

"And now?" she asks, biting on the inside of her cheek.

"Now what?"

"Now you know I'm wanted by the Empire." Her mouth twists in a grimace. "Whatever's left of it anyway."

"What about it?" he asks, sounding so kriffing casual about it.

She huffs in frustration. "Does it change anything about your job offer?"

"We all have our secrets," he says softly, something about him seeming far away for a moment before he gets up, setting the kid down in his place. The little one fusses a bit but then Mando pulls a silver ball out of his pocket, putting it in the kid's hands and instantly making him happy again. "And I'm not going to ask you yours. The Imps are after you? Fine. That's all I need to know. You can tell me more when you're ready. And, really, what's one more fugitive of the Empire on this ship?"

Mahin licks her lips, fingers finally unclenching as she tries to ignore the bubble of excitement building in her stomach. "The Imps aren't actively searching for me, you know," she points out. "They had no idea I was there. It was just bad luck that guy recognized me from a holo that's ten years old."

"All the better. So what do you say?" He holds out his hand. "Want to stick it out with us for a while?"

A fresh start, a chance to see more of the galaxy than she ever thought possible, and a chance to get to know these two more? She's lost everything, again, but she could keep this little something. A small connection to the Mandalorians she knew.

A slow smile spreads across her lips and she steps forward. "Yeah, let's do it."

"Just one more thing." He pulls his hand back a little before she can take it, voice dropping with seriousness. "You need to think about this real hard. As you said, the Imps aren't actively looking for you. But they are looking for the kid. They've sent people after him. Stormtroopers. Bounty hunters. Staying with us won't be easy, or necessarily safe."

She looks up at his helmet, finding it surprisingly easy to feel like she meets his gaze through the visor. "Can you promise to keep me safe?"

"I promise to try my best," he concedes. "But you need to know, the safety of the child will always come first."

That settles the decision for her, really. It clicks into place and pulses with rightness, her instincts screaming at her in a way they haven't in years. She looks at the little one around Mando, sitting on that crate with a silver ball half stuffed in his mouth. So young. So innocent. Filled with so much…light. She doesn't know how the two came together, but the kid needs Mando's protection and she's so glad he has it. And he needs her protection, too. She can feel it. Whatever brought her to this moment, this is where she needs to be.

The kid comes first.

She wouldn't have it any other way.

Resolve set, she takes his hand and shakes. "This is the Way."

"This is the Way."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the hopes of making myself feel a little bit better, I'm going to post another chapter today. It'll be up in a few.


	7. Prepare for Launch Pt. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter posted today, just FYI.

It takes Mahin nearly an hour to fix the Razor Crest's engine, the majority of that time spent simply navigating the crawlspace built into the ship so she can get to the regulator without putting a spacesuit on and doing it from the outside. Definitely _not_ an experience she wants to have. She's fine in a spaceship. It doesn't really feel like they're in space then. But putting just a thin spacesuit between herself and a vast, cold vacuum that can completely obliterate her in the time it takes her to splice wires?

Yeah, no thanks. She'd rather crawl through an engine on her belly.

Though this is definitely not easy, she thinks to herself as she shuffles on her elbows through the narrow space between the wires and tubing. The light at the end of the tunnel lies literally feet away, the light from the ship interior filtering in through the open access panel. But she is dead tired. She was up most of last night, slept maybe two hours before getting chased around by a bunch of Stormtroopers, then slept in an airduct for another…well, she's not entirely sure how long she was in that duct.

What kriffing time _is_ it?

Space. A seriously messed up place.

A shadow falls in front of the light streaming in. She squints, making out the shape of Mando's helmet. "How's it going in there?"

Her knee bumps into something, _again_ , and she hisses in a breath. Yeah, that's going to bruise.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," she huffs, crawling forward a little more. This is taking forever. "Go ahead and turn her on!"

"You sure?" he asks nervously, the echoes giving his voice more of a metallic edge than usual. "Shouldn't we wait until you're out of there?"

"It's alright. I'm not near anything dangerous."

Not anymore anyway. And she's ready for this night to be over.

He hesitates and then gives a short nod. "If you're sure…."

Mando disappears from the opening to go up to the cockpit while Mahin continues to crawl. A few moments later the machinery behind her rumbles to life. She pauses, listening, and then smiles. A nice, healthy engine. A whine builds in an upper part of the ship, the hyperdrive engaging to continue their journey through space and get them to a planet.

Finally.

She shuffles the last few feet to the opening, curling her fingers around the ledge to pull herself forward. She looks miserably down at the floor. It's not that far. Maybe three feet? But there's no way she has enough room to turn around and get her feet out first. She'll have to try to get her hands on the floor and lower herself with her arms.

Taking in a bracing breath, she wiggles forward and reaches down towards the floor. At least a foot still stretches between the floor and her fingertips. Carefully, she wiggles forward a bit more, upper body tipping downward dangerously.

Mondo's boots suddenly walk into her line of sight and then he grabs her beneath the armpits, hoisting her gently out of the crawl space to place her on her feet as if she weighs nothing. Her face burns slightly, feeling so much like a child next to him. His hands feel large, fingers splayed along her sides, and she has to literally tilt her head back to look at his helmet face since they stand so close.

He stares down at her for a moment, hands lingering like streaks of fire along her ribs. She feels dizzy next to him, a funny flutter in her stomach that she can't name, but then a yawn tears its way out of her mouth and she realizes exhaustion is what's making her sway on her feet.

"You must be tired," he says simply, releasing her and taking a step back. "I set a course for Helion. I have bounties in carbonite that I already collected and need to be dropped off there. I never got a chance to get money for fuel before we left Ulta-7 but we should have just enough to make it. It'll be a few hours though. You should get some rest."

"Sounds good to me." She rubs at heavy eyes with the heel of her hand, glancing around the narrow cargo hold. Razor Crests were built for a small crew with minimal needs. It definitely doesn't afford a whole lot of space. "Where can I sleep?"

He stiffens, glancing around the space as well in befuddlement.

She chuckles softly. "You didn't think that through before wanting me to come along, huh?"

"Well, I didn't know you were coming along," he says with an obvious smirk. "If I had, I would have prepped a place for you first."

"Honestly, I'm too tired to really care. Just give me a blanket or something and I'll conk out in a corner on the floor."

"No," he replies adamantly. He waves for her to follow him to the front of the ship near the ladder leading to an upper level. He presses a button on a control panel and a cubby door opens up, revealing a sleeping compartment with a padded mattress and some sort of small, makeshift hammock hanging from its ceiling. "You can sleep here."

Her brow furrows, sleepy brain taking an embarrassingly long time to put two and two together. "Wait, no, I can't take your bed."

"You need sleep more than I do," he comments pragmatically. "Besides, I want to make sure we weren't followed."

"Come on, Mando, you need sleep, too. You're only human, not invincible." She frowns a bit. Most Mandalorians nowadays are human, but not all of them since they take in foundlings of any species. "Wait, you are human, right?"

"Yes, I'm human," he says, amused. He nods towards the sleeping compartment. "But you still need that bed more than I do so in you go."

She feels like pressing it for all of two seconds before the exhaustion wins out. She crawls inside the compartment, feet towards the door. It's large enough for someone as tall as Mando to sit up in, wide enough for his broad shoulders, so she fits with room to spare. She curls up on her side, using her folded arm as a pillow. Mando squats down and lifts up the child to place him in the little hammock. The kid gives a sleepy coo, happily hunkering down in the hammock for a nap of his own.

She snorts lightly, eyelids already drooping as she murmurs, "That's adorable."

Something touches her ankle, just for a moment, before withdrawing. "Get some sleep, Mahin."

He presses a button and the hatch closes, the compartment lights automatically turning off with it.

"Well, it's definitely been a very long day," she whispers to herself. "Not the worst day, but definitely the longest."

At least she's safe. She has a home, if a spaceship can be called a home. She has friends, or at the very least someone watching her back. She wasn't caught. She still has her freedom. And her life. She lost the only family she's known for a long, long time. They may be dead. With their skills, though, they very likely made it out alive. She chooses to hope for the best.

Nothing lasts forever. Not even what she has now with Mando and the kid. She can close her eyes and in two minutes it'll all be gone. Nothing she does can change or control any of that. But what she can do is get some sleep and when she wakes up, do what she can to make the most of what she has now. Make the best life she can, with the Mandalorian and the child.

Mahin may even find something she never thought to look for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason, I like the idea of Din manhandling her. It's cute.
> 
> I don't know when the next chapter will be up. Everything is so up in the air in my life right now. More of my family caught Covid this week as well (unrelated incidents but, jeez, life likes to kick yah when you're down) so things are still really crazy and we don't even know when the funeral will be (or if we'll need another one). But I'll try.
> 
> Stay safe, guys.


	8. Carving Out a Place Pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, life hasn't gotten any better, or at least slowed down. I swear this fandom is the only thing keeping me sane right now. And Criminal Minds. Binging Criminal Minds always makes me feel better.
> 
> Anyway, this chapter starts Mahin getting settled in on the Razor Crest and we get a bit more about her past.
> 
> Go onward and enjoy!

Mahin wakes in the dark, pitch black, and panics for a moment before registering a warmth curled against her and remembering. Mando's ship. Sleeping in his bed. The kid sleeping in the hammock.

And now sleeping against her chest.

Mahin still lays on her side and the kid somehow got out of his hammock and curled his way between her arms, snuggling right up against her chest. Her arms unconsciously curled around him in her sleep to hold him close like a teddy bear. She smiles softly to herself. Does he do this to Mando, too, while he sleeps?

The kid babbles some nonsense words, clearly wide awake and realizing she is now, too, but he hasn't left yet. The kid's smart enough to get out of this compartment on his own based on some of the things Mando mentioned. Yet the child stayed with Mahin.

He likes her. It makes her really happy. A really good thing if she's meant to look after him when Mando's gone. But mostly it makes her happy.

The little green bean is growing on her, too.

"Good morning, ad'ika," she whispers groggily, tracing a finger sightlessly up the kid's back and along one of his long ears. He coos happily as he nuzzles his face against her chest.

Even when she can't see him he's adorable. How is that fair?

Gathering him close with one arm, she sits up, feeling around the wall with her free hand for the interior control panel. She finds it on the right, getting the hatch open and spilling the bright light of the ship right into her eyes. She squints against it, grumbling under her breath. She's never been much of a morning person.

If it even is morning. Kriffing space, man.

She sets the kid down on the edge of the compartment. What should she do with him? Leave him in the compartment? Bring him to Mando? Feed him or something? She doesn't see Mando anywhere. Must still be up in the cockpit. She eyes the ladder, then another door next to it. Opening it up, she finds a refresher with a toilet and shower that work on a water recycler.

She stares longingly. Cleaning up sounds wonderful all of a sudden. She doesn't have a change of clothes but she can at least take a shower.

But what to do with the kid? The sweet, innocent face looks up at her like he's not capable of doing anything mischievous at all. She doesn't believe it for a second.

It's only for a few minutes though. He'll be fine for just a few minutes. Right?

"You stay right there," she tells him sternly. He cocks his head to the side with a soft coo. "I mean it. Don't you go getting into trouble. I'll be right back."

Not sure if he understands or not, she closes him inside the sleeping compartment so she can take the quickest shower of her life. She scrubs roughly with hurried movements, borrowing the shampoo and soap she finds on a shelf with relative confidence that Mando won't mind. The worry spirals down the drain, though, because she feels so much better after. Getting the dirt, grime and sweat off her skin and out of her hair is worth any blowback. Even a half-destroyed trip due to an adorable little menace. She feels a bit more like herself. Less frazzled after her world turning upside down again.

It helps that she finds the remains of the money Mando gave her in the pocket of her coveralls. She stuffed the payment in there and totally forgot about it, too tired to put it with the rest of her stash when she got home the previous night after giving the other half to the alor.

At least she's not starting with absolutely nothing this time. _That_ was bad. She lived on the street for weeks, in a dingy little alleyway with rats as her neighbors. Then she got the job at the spaceport, but even then, it took forever to save enough for a down payment on that apartment above the cantina.

Her first real shower after moving in was just as blissful as this one. She practically turned pink from her struggle to scrub the rancid odors of the alley out of her skin.

This new beginning is definitely better.

She runs her fingers through her wet, tangled mess of hair as she exits the refresher, doing her best to brush it out and quickly giving up to pull the wet mop up into a bun. The kid still sits in the exact same place she left him. Except now clutching a silver ball in his hands like it's the most fascinating thing ever. Where did that thing even come from? It's not like the kid has pockets. She chuckles to herself, picking the kid up to sit him on her forearm.

This green bean will keep her on her toes. She can already tell.

Using only one hand to climb the ladder is interesting but manageable, something she commits to getting better at since it will likely be a common occurrence. She finds a short hallway at the top of the ladder, a door on the right and another on the left. Based on the hum, the hyperdrive engine hides behind the right door, so she goes to the left. The door slides open to reveal the small cockpit, walls lined with buttons and control panels twinkling like the stars currently blurring by in hyperspace. Two passenger seats sit to the right and left of the door, and right across from the door sits Mando in the pilot's chair, flicking some switches with a hand resting on the joystick.

"Good, you're awake," he says by way of greeting without even turning his head. "We'll be coming out of hyperspace in just a few minutes."

Mahin plops down in the seat to his right tiredly, keeping the kid in her lap. "I don't suppose you have caf on this ship, do you?"

Despite giving no outward sign, she can feel his amusement. "Sorry, no. I don't typically purchase luxuries like that."

Her nose wrinkles in displeasure. "Uhg. Bounty hunter like you, constantly on the move, you probably subsist off of ration packets alone, don't you?

"Nothing wrong with ration packets."

"For you, maybe. But not for me, or the kid for that matter. He needs actual nutrients, not that processed slag." She leans back in the chair, legs stretched out in front of her and crossed at the ankles as she muses, "Maybe I should pick up work at the ports while you go off on jobs. Most will take on an extra mechanic short-term so long as I promise to give them a cut of what I make. Then we could afford real food."

"Caf isn't real food," he reminds her lightly.

"Ration packets aren't real food," she throws back.

He lifts a shoulder and tilts his head in acknowledgment. After flicking a few more switches, he swivels the seat around to face them with his hand held out. "Come on, kid. I need that back now."

The kid coos in displeasure, clutching the silver ball a little tighter. Mahin notices the hole in the metal for the first time, the inside threaded like it screws onto something.

"Come on, kid," he says, gentle but firm. "You know the rules. Hand it over."

The child grumbles a bit more, hesitating, then plops the ball in Mando's hand like a chastised toddler.

"Good," Mando nods in thanks before spinning back around to screw the little ball back onto a lever.

Huh. That's where that came from. Kind of need that, and yet Mando seems to let him have it whenever he can.

"Does the kid have a name?" she wonders aloud, letting the child in her lap have one of her fingers in place of his ball. He clutches it with surprising strength, moving her fingers around to inspect in fascination. "I've only ever heard you call him kid. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but if I'm going to help take care of him it would be nice to know."

"He doesn't have a name. Or, at least, I don't know what it is." He flicks a few more switches and then they drop out of hyperspace, the blur of stars suddenly going still to fill the viewport with a blanket of black dotted with fiery lights. A planet floats in the middle of it all painted in swirling blues and greens and whites, a sun just peeking over its horizon. Mando stays quiet for a few moments as he works the nav system to scan the planet for the town he wants and plot their descent. "I…I don't know where the kid comes from. He probably has a name, and a family, but he doesn't know how to talk so he can't tell me. All I know is that he was taken by the Empire at a young age, held for…years, I suspect. And then he somehow got away."

He spins to face them again, hesitating for a moment, the air around him heavy with guilt. "You should know all this. If you're going to stay."

She straightens in her seat, brow furrowing in concern. What could have him this rattled?

"I," he takes in a deep breath and then lets it out slowly, "I accepted a bounty from an Imperial officer in exchange for beskar. I was to collect an asset and bring him back. Dead or alive. I was given a partial gene code, a tracking fob, an age, and a last known location."

Mahin clutches the child tighter in her lap, as if she can shield him from events that already happened. She can't imagine doing that, turning in a child to the Empire. A part of her wants to hate Mando for it. And yet, after being friends with Mandalorians for a year, she knows his people consider beskar sacred. She may never fully understand how important the metal is to them, but the strength of its importance in their minds isn't something she takes lightly. He had a _duty_ to get it back, especially from Imp scum.

However she feels about it, she knows this story has a better ending than that—the proof of it sitting safely in her lap—so she stays quiet, letting Mando speak.

"I took it." Mando leans forward with his elbows on his thighs, head hanging heavy between his shoulders. "I thought I was going after some fifty-year-old man, not a child, so I just…tried to put the whole thing out of my head and did the job."

Mahin's jaw drops open. "Wait, they told you the kid was fifty?"

"He is fifty." Mando reaches a hand out to trace one of the child's long ears. "I don't know what species he is, but they physically develop slower than humans. I can see it sometimes. Even though he mostly acts like a baby, sometimes he seems to understand things. More than a baby should. He can't talk yet but I know he understands what I'm saying well enough."

Mahin looks down at the kid in a new light. Fifty. A fifty-year-old baby. Been around all these years and yet, developmentally, still mostly a child.

How long did the Empire have him before getting away? Mando said he thinks years. It could have been _decades_. Decades of enduring torture and who knows what else.

And still, the kid smiles.

"Anyway, I took the job, got the kid, and gave him back to the Imps for the beskar. But as I was leaving I just," Mando plops back in his seat with a deep sigh, "I couldn't do it. I couldn't leave him there with them. So I got him out and we've been running ever since. I hope to find his people. Get him back to his family and make sure the Empire never messes with him again."

His shoulders droop slightly, weighed down with a loss that hasn't happened yet. A loss that he won't acknowledge to himself. "He deserves a better life than this," he whispers, so low she's not sure she's meant to hear.

You are as his father, as the as the Mando'ade say. The kid is his foundling. As such, Mando has a right to name him. Yet he hasn't. Because he doesn't plan to keep the child and raise him Mandalorian. He's trying to take the kid home, to his own people who hopefully know the child's true name.

And then leave him there. Never seeing the child again.

For someone who doesn't plan to keep the kid, raise him as his own, it definitely seems like he's growing attached. The sadness wouldn't sit so heavy in the air around him otherwise at the mere thought of his goal complete.

Mando clears his throat awkwardly, turning to take the ship controls in hand. "Well, we better land before we run out of fuel."

Mahin gives the back of his head an incredulous look. "Just how low are we?"

"Lower than I'd like." They descend closer to the planet, the ship rattling as they begin to push through the atmosphere. "I'm hoping I won't have to glide her in."

Mahin gets the seatbelt around her waist and wraps her arms tightly around the kid, clutching her fingers into the little cloak he wears.

This Mandalorian doesn't joke often and she gets the feeling he isn't joking now.

Mahin stares out the viewport as Mando navigates them to one of the planet's small towns, managing—thankfully—to set them safely down in the shipyard. Though calling it a shipyard is generous. It's more like a cleared piece of land with a mechanic's shack and fuel pump next to it. It'll do though. They can get fuel and Mahin can have the space to give the Razor Crest a proper once-over now that they aren't in the middle of space.

Mahin doesn't pay attention to the shipyard for long, or even the town, as the ship settles on its landing gear. Her eyes stay focused on the rolling hills spread out for miles and miles.

Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. She hasn't seen this much green in a long, long time. Her feet itch to run through it, lungs aching to breathe in the fresh air unpolluted by smog.

"I need you to stay on the ship with the kid," Mando informs her as he flicks switches and pulls the lever with the ball back to power down the ship.

"What?" Mahin squawks in dismay. "Why can't we come with you?"

He swivels his seat around and stands, walking right past her out the door. She scrambles after him, awkwardly carrying the kid as she descends the ladder with one arm. At least going down appears to be a bit easier than going up. The weapons locker built into the wall opens up and he looks over the frankly impressive arsenal.

"Do you think there's going to be trouble or something?" she asks with trepidation sitting heavy on her chest, watching as he holsters one of his _many_ blasters to his hip.

"No." He grabs the amban rifle as well, slinging the strap over one shoulder. Mahin whistles under her breath. Amban rifles are nasty pieces of tech. It can be used as an electrical baton that can shock opponents unconscious as well as a sniper rifle with rounds capable of disintegrating targets on a molecular level. She thought the New Republic banned them.

Though it's not like the New Republic does a whole lot of policing in the Outer Rim. Even if they did, they probably still wouldn't care. Or at least wouldn't look too closely.

"I still like to be prepared," he explains, slipping ammo for the rifle into a holster attached to his right calf. "It didn't look like we were followed, but the Stormtroopers could still fan out to nearby planets looking for us. Including this one. And this planet isn't the safest place anyway."

"That why you want us staying on the ship?"

"Yes and no." He closes up the armory and then turns to face her. "It's also to test you with the kid. I wasn't exaggerating when I said he can be a handful. I want to start with the two of you staying on the ship while I'm gone. Once you're used to each other, we can talk about you leaving the ship without me. I also want to set up safeguards in case something happens to you and I'm not there. Starting with this."

He offers her something and she holds her palm out, gloved fingers pressing a commlink to her hand. She runs her thumb over the device half the size of her palm, inspecting it closely. "Hush commlink," she notes, flipping it over, "capable of picking up even the smallest whisper, with a wide range that can cut through the electromagnetic chatter of most large cities without dropping signal and a built-in locator. Very nice."

"Keep this on you at all times," he orders firmly. "It connects to the commlink in my helmet. You keep me updated on where you are. Even if I can't always answer. You get in trouble, something feels off, someone even just looks at you funny, you tell me. If for some reason you can't talk, just click the talk button. It'll send a burst of static. Click it twice to tell me you need help and I'll find you."

Mahin swallows thickly, the severity of the situation truly making itself known to her for the first time. He's not just paranoid. This is an actual need. She may need to use this thing. She may end up in some kind of real, terrifying danger that only he can get her out of. Being with them, living this life, may get her hurt. Threatened, taken, tortured for information. Chased or beaten or scared within an inch of her life.

She should run. She should get out while she has the chance.

That feeling, though—the need to flee—it never comes. Just an increasing belief that she needs to stay. For herself, and for them.

"I promise to always have it on me," she vows seriously, shoving the commlink into a pocket before her lips twitch up at the corners, "on one condition."

"Alright," he says warily, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "What condition?"

"Two minutes."

His arms drop back down to his sides, taken aback. "What?"

"I want to go outside for two minutes before you go off and do your thing."

He stares in silence for a few seconds before nodding slowly. "Uh, sure."

He leads her towards the back of the ship, smashing the side of his fist against the button to lower the rear ramp.

Passing the kid to Mando, she walks to the end of the ramp and pauses. A field stretches out before her. Bright green grass rustles in the wind like rolling waves. Trees dot the field like islands, their branches lush, reaching up to the sun rising over the hills that paints the sky in shades of reds and oranges and yellows. She bends down to tug her boots off before stepping off of the ramp. Blades of grass tickle her bare feet in soft caresses. A content smile pulls at her lips and she closes her eyes, breathing the fresh air in deep.

"When was the last time you left home?" Mando asks quietly from behind her, trying not to burst her little bubble of peace.

"That wasn't home," she answers hesitantly, opening her eyes and keeping her gaze fixed on the scenery. A part of her wants to tell him. Everything. He's trusted her with so much already. Doesn't she owe him the same?

But he said she doesn't have to tell him. She can wait, until she's truly ready. Though she never even told Melinda and Luca the whole truth. If she couldn't tell them after a year, will she ever really be ready to tell this Mandalorian everything?

She doesn't know. But she feels obligated to tell him fragments, at least, and keeps it as close to the truth as possible when she adds, "I lived on Ulta-7 for about eight years. I got to the city, carved out a place for myself, and then never really left. Not even to the woods to the north. This is the most nature I've seen in a while."

"You don't need to be born in a place to call it home. I wasn't born a Mandalorian, I was a foundling, but the covert became my home."

"True." She rocks back on her heels, taking his little revelation in stride without comment as she tilts her face towards the breeze. A foundling himself. That kind of explains a lot. With a twist of her fingers, she lets her half-dried hair hang free to enjoy the feeling of her hair floating in the wind. "But that place still wasn't really a home."

It was an existence. Everything about her life has only been about existing—surviving—for a long, long time. What does home even mean? She's not sure she knows anymore.

Faces flash in her mind, broken pieces of memory clawing to the surface from where she buried them. A man with a square jaw covered in stubble and the deepest blue eyes she's ever seen. A woman with a bright, kind smile and the same fiery hair that falls down Mahin's back.

Those same faces marred with blood. The rancid smell of burning skin from blaster fire.

Forcing a smile on her face, she returns to her shoes to put them back on. "Alright, two minutes are up." Her hands brush against Mando's as she takes the kid from him. They don't shake, she notes to herself proudly. The child coos softly between them and her smile turns a bit more real, bouncing the kid on her arm.

No matter what she's lost or where she's been, maybe this time she'll find something more than existing.

* * *

Din can't shake the look on Mahin's face out of his head as he makes his way through town. He's never seen a smile look so broken before. Not even on foundlings' faces. Not even on his own face in the mirror after he lost his parents and was brought to the covert.

But he and the other foundlings had people looking after them, the Mandalorians. A family.

As far as he can tell Mahin has no one. Maybe the covert from Ulta-7, but they're gone now, too.

He heads to the bar he knows the local Guild rep likes to frequent. It's almost empty since it's still pretty early in the day, filled only with the die-hard drunks who never truly sober up, along with one man sitting in a darkened corner. Din slides into the booth across from him, leaning his amban rifle against the table while plopping down three complete pucks.

The man glances up from his datapad, dark eyes set into a grizzled face. "Finished already, I see," he comments absently, marking something off on his datapad with a finger. "That was fast."

Din doesn't reply, not one for idle chit chat. He does the job, he gets paid. End of story, no need for anything else. This rep seems to get that as he silently counts out his payment, tapping at the datapad again to arrange pickup for the carbonite bounties at the Razor Crest. A man walks out from the office behind the bar, heading outside to get a transport ready. "I have a few more bounties available," the rep says, laying out three new pucks on the table between them. "Nothing much, especially for someone of your skill. Pocket change, really."

Din looks the pucks over as he pockets his freshly earned credits, running calculations in his head as he replies, "Even pocket change has its uses. I need to purchase supplies for some ship modifications I have in mind. So long as it's local, it should help pay for everything I need."

"This one, then." He slides the middle puck closer.

Din activates it to take a look at the bounty information. Human, twenty-five years old. Parole jumper. Not overly sophisticated, so he shouldn't be very skilled at evasion. Last known location was just one town over. Perfect. "I should be able to finish this in under an hour. Mind delaying that carbonite pick up until I get back?"

"You've proven to be reliable enough." The rep leans back in his seat, laying a casual arm across the back of the booth. "And I can't get anyone else to take the puck since it pays so little. So yeah, sure. I can wait. You Mandalorians are obsessed with honor and all that stuff so you won't run out on me, right?"

"Right," Din clips between clenched teeth, getting up from his seat and gathering his rifle and puck to walk out of the bar. It always rubs the wrong way, whenever someone tries to talk about the Way like they understand. It usually comes with a mocking edge, whether they know they're doing it or not.

Mahin has been the only exception.

Alright, he's got work to do, half his brain focusing on the hunt while the other half pulls together a list of things needed to make the Razor Crest more welcoming for its newest crewmember. Hanging a hammock was good enough for the kid but Mahin needs more.

She deserves more.

He falters in his step a bit. Perhaps he should let her know that he's going to be longer than planned. Check in, make sure her and the kid are doing alright.

He's…not used to having someone to check in with.

It's definitely not an unpleasant feeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp, we got people opening up a little. And Mando wanting her to feel welcome just as much as she wants to fit into this new life of hers.
> 
> Next chapter, we have Mahin alone with Grogu for the first time. Along with some pretty big revelations.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed, PLEASE COMMENT, and see you all next time!
> 
> Translations  
> alor (leader, chief)  
> ad'ika (little one)


	9. Carving Out a Place Pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to post this over the weekend. And then I struggled with continuity and my muse forced me to stop to create a timeline for known Star Wars events, the likely placement of Mandalorian events (like when Din was born and when he was saved by Mandalorians), and where Mahin's own timeline falls in place with everything. It...took a while. But I know I'm better off for it.
> 
> This chapter answers the obvious question that everyone keeps asking: Is Mahin Force-sensitive?
> 
> I have my own question for you, though: What do you call a padawan who never completed her training?
> 
> Go onward and enjoy!

Mahin looks around the Razor Crest after Mando leaves, kid propped on her hip and not really sure what to do. She was brought on as a mechanic and caregiver, but they never really went over what all that entails. Does she clean the ship? Do laundry? Cook meals? Or does she leave everything alone for Mando to take care of if it has nothing to do with fixing the ship or directly taking care of the kid?

Mando seems to keep a tidy ship. Really almost a necessity for a ship this small. Neat stacks of crates line the left side of the hold across from the carbonite freezer. Three slabs of bounties hang from a rack like clothes in a closet, the faces of bounties in various states of fear or anger or pain frozen in carbonite.

She steers clear of those. She has nothing against bounty hunting or anything, but the thought of being frozen like that, unmoving and unaware and totally without control, kind of freaks her out.

She finds a few compartments built into the walls further down the hold, opening up with the press of a button. Laundry and sink that pull from the water recycler, a stove top that doesn't get used since she found a crate filled with ration packets, the weapons locker, a slab of metal she assumes is the medical bay, and a few cubbies for storage. Then Mando's sleeping compartment and refresher on the back wall, and on the right between the corner and weapons locker is a storage closet filled with additional crates. They look like a combination of medical and weapon supplies, both highly necessary in the bounty hunting trade. Upstairs has only the cockpit, access to the hyperdrive and the ship's main engine.

Not a whole lot, but enough for one man. However, it's now one man, one woman, and a child.

How do they make this work?

The kid has a hammock as a bed, which he seems to enjoy, but she finds no signs of toys other than the silver lever handle. She gets that Mando doesn't mean to keep the kid, but he's still going to need more than this.

He may be such a handful because he doesn't have any toys to occupy his time.

A sharp pang shoots through Mahin's chest. Is that another reason why the kid is still developmentally a baby, despite having lived for fifty years? Toys are an important form of enrichment. They help kids learn about the world around them, how things work, how their own bodies move, and about language.

Really, no one has taken proper care of this child before Mando came along. She's not sure how she knows that for certain, but she does.

And she wants to do all that she can to help, too.

Mahin scrounges through the crates, trying not to feel like a creep snooping through Mando's stuff but needing to know what she has to work with. She finds one crate filled with tools and spare parts and lets out a small noise of delight. She picks through it all. Wires, piping, tubing, screws, random metal bits. A beat-up toolbox lays at the bottom. Tugging it out, she throws a couple things in and then works on getting it all and the kid up to the cockpit.

It takes two trips, but she eventually gets the kid in one of the passenger seats and the toolbox on the floor next to her feet as she sits in the pilot's chair. The kid holds out a hand with grabby fingers. She chuckles lightly, unscrewing the ball from the lever to hand it to him.

"Don't worry, ad'ika," she tells him affectionately. "We'll get you something better soon."

With the kid occupied, she turns towards the control panels. She can't work on the outside of the ship and she has no desire to go crawling around ducts again today. She has to keep an eye on the kid anyway. So, a full diagnostics check of the ship's systems will have to do for now.

She gets the system booted up, grabbing the old datapad from the toolbox and hooking it up to a port in the dash. A few quick taps and a progress bar appears on the screen as the diagnostics scan begins. With that going, she selects a few bobs and ends from the toolbox, along with a screwdriver, and starts tinkering.

It's quiet for the first ten minutes with only the sounds of Mahin's tinkering and the beeping of the datapad. Then she hears a soft _thump_. She doesn't look up at first, focusing on connecting caps to a piece of pipe in order to cover the sharp edges.

Then she hears the _tinkle_ of metal against metal near her feet.

Without missing a beat, her hand reaches out and snatches the back of the kid's coat before he can stick a wire in his mouth. He lets out an indignant squawk as she takes the wire from his hands to return to the toolbox.

"No, no, ad'ika," she gently scolds as she returns him to his seat. "Those aren't for playing. Or eating. Or teething. You just sit there and play with your ball. I promise we'll get you new toys soon."

Yeah, he definitely needs new toys.

The morning ticks by steadily, interrupted only by a call from Mando on the commlink informing her that he's taken a local bounty and will be a few more hours. Mahin wishes him luck and keeps working on her little creation in between keeping the kid out of trouble and checking the progress of the diagnostics scan.

The kid definitely doesn't like to sit still. She's not sure how Mando managed it by himself before, but it's a routine Mahin's used to. She used to offer to watch the kids of families who came through the shipyard, keeping an eye on babies, children, and everything in between while parents took care of business in town. She would work on the ships while watching them in her periphery, always having a sense of when little feet or hands started wandering where they shouldn't.

Mahin catches the kid from trying to touch buttons on the control panel three times, trying to climb down the ladder two times, and attempting to get into the toolbox again seven times. Each time she catches him before he can do anything dangerous, like fall through the hatch to the lower level. He's so small, she's pretty sure he's not even capable of climbing down a ladder, no matter how good his little legs seem to be at walking.

Mahin sighs deeply as she catches the kid, again. He's definitely more squirrely than any of the previous kids she's looked after. Definitely good at escape.

A part of her wonders if that wasn't developed from necessity.

She shakes those thoughts away, putting the finishing touches on the project in her hands. No use thinking those thoughts. No matter what the kid's been through, he's safe now and they're committed to making sure he stays safe. That's all that matters.

"Here you go, ad'ika," she says, holding out the makeshift rattle to him. His eyes go even bigger, if possible. The little ball slips from his fingers to roll across the floor completely forgotten. Mahin grins as she hands him the new toy. It's nothing much, just some nuts and shiny baubles of metal attached to a bit of pipe with wire, any potential pokey bits covered with electrical tape.

But it makes a satisfying rattling noise when shaken, which the child wastes no time in finding out. A sound that could potentially get very annoying now that she thinks about it, but the delighted squeal he emits melts her heart so much she just can't find it in her to care.

It's sure to melt hearts wrapped in beskar, too.

A beep from the datapad announces the completed scan and Mahin turns her attention to it, going over the information without worry that the child will get into trouble again anytime soon as he plays with his new toy.

She works in almost-silence, enjoying the low hum the ship always seems to make, never allowing for true quiet. It's different than the hum of the city. The metal walls are thick enough to block out voices of any passerby. No stomping of feet from the floor above her or raucous laughter of the bar patrons below.

Different, but a good different.

Something else presses at the back of her mind, though, her senses picking something up that she can't quite place. It bothers her enough to make her pause in her reading. She doesn't hear anything over the hum. Nothing coming from outside. No funny smells, no one standing ominously outside the ship that she can see through the viewport.

But she swears she… _feels_ something. Almost familiar and yet not. She concentrates on the feeling, trying to remember a context for when she last felt something like this, and then it hits her.

She's feeling something…not with any of her normal senses.

She feels something in the Force.

The datapad falls to the dash with a jarring _clank_ , her spine going ramrod straight. Her brow furrows, focusing on the feeling in the back of her mind with senses she hasn't actively used in years. Someone reaches out to her through the Force, trying to connect to her.

Another Force user.

It's not something she uses often, the Force. She has to be careful. No one can see her using her abilities. No one can know for fear of it getting back to the Empire somehow. Besides, she never finished her training. She's a padawan without a Jedi master anymore, leaving her skills raw and energy levels low.

But it's surprisingly easy to fall back into. The Force greets her like a long-lost friend. The warmth of it surrounds her. Soothing. Comforting. She follows her connection to it back to the one who reaches out for her, sensing curiosity, excitement, and an innocent delight that can only come from one place.

Slowly, she turns in her seat to face the child.

"Holy kriffing _crap_ ," she whispers out, eyes going wider than the child's as she stares at the little green gean, so small, so innocent. But a talented Force user from what she can feel.

So much makes sense now. How he can be fifty years old and still look so young, for starters. She remembers learning of a Jedi named Yoda during her training. She even saw a few pictures of him that survived Order 66, looking just like this little one in front of her. Even though she never got to meet him, she felt the day Yoda died in the Force. And he was over nine hundred years old.

She also understands why the Empire wants this child. And yet, she really doesn't. Imperial orders for Force users are supposed to be shoot on sight.

So why seek to take the kid? Why not simply kill him?

Mahin's blood runs cold, goosebumps scattering down her arms. That Stormtrooper who found her, he didn't try to kill her, either. He tried to bring her in.

Why would the Empire suddenly want to keep them?

Then she remembers how Mando said something about experimentation.

Experimentation on Force users. Why? To make Jedi of their own? To make their Stormtroopers capable of using the Force?

Or something far more sinister?

Warmth envelopes her, the child's Force presence wrapping around her like the softest blanket, pulling her out of her spiraling thoughts. Instinctively, Mahin reaches back, touching their Force presences together, their lights, their darks, their souls.

The child's delight strengthens with an echoing coo. Happy to find another like him.

She bends over in her seat to pick up the forgotten silver ball, holding it out to him on the flat of her palm. He's smart, picking up right away what she wants him to do. Closing his eyes, he holds out a hand as he uses the Force. The little ball levitates smoothly out of her hand and over to his. The ball never shakes, never dips or deviates, until his three fingers wrap around it.

He's strong. Really strong. He got training before the fall of the Jedi Order.

He holds the ball back out to her, cooing imploringly.

It's easy. Surprisingly easy despite the last time she did this was five, six years ago. She dropped a screwdriver in the middle of an engine and the only other way to get it out would have been to take the engine apart. She doesn't even have to close her eyes to concentrate like the kid. She feels for the Force around the ball and it answers, zipping the ball seamlessly back to her hand like a magnet.

The kid claps excitedly with a high-pitched squeal.

"Yeah, ad'ika," she says softly, picking him up to cradle him against her chest. He goes eagerly, nuzzling his face against her collarbone exposed by the neckline of her tank top. "I'm like you."

His presence surges, the Force bubbling up in him like a fountain.

Mahin abruptly pulls back, grasping both of his hands in one of hers to make him stop. "No, ad'ika," she tells him firmly with a quiver to her voice. He pauses. Presence confused and a little hurt, but mostly confused as to why she would pull back from using the Force, something he feels is so much part of himself.

She swallows thickly around a tight throat. She feels that way, too. That the Force is a part of her. Really, it's a part of _everything_. It weaves the universe together like threads in a tapestry. But the universe doesn't _feel_ the Force like she does. Like the kid does. Only people like them can pull at the threads of the Force, to use it, manipulate it, make it answer their call.

But Force-sensitives can't just use the Force at birth. They have a seed planted in their souls. A seed that needs water—training—in order to grow. Without that, the seed will wither and die, any knowledge in the Force forgotten.

Mahin hasn't actively trained in over a decade. And yet her knowledge of the Force never wanes. In fact, it feels like just the slightest push, the slightest practice, will make her powers grow and grow.

It terrifies her. If she gets better, stronger, the Empire will only want to seek her out more and more. Especially in its weakened state.

They fear anything with more power than them.

"I can't, ad'ika," she tries to explain, letting him feel her tremor of fear. She's not sure how much he understands, but she does know he understands one thing. "I…I don't want the bad men to get me."

His ears droop, echoes of foggy memories drifting along his consciousness that she picks up. Men in white coats and dark faces, poking him with needles and machines and pain. So much pain.

So much more than a child should know.

"I don't want that to happen to me. I don't want the Stormtroopers to get me."

She never really voiced that aloud before. It's why she's been running all this time, it influences every decision she ever makes, but she never gave it words. Substance. Bringing the idea into reality like this feels dangerous. As if it can conjure the Stormtroopers right at her heels.

But it doesn't. She's safe on the Mandalorian's ship and it makes saying the words easier.

"I'm sorry I…can't be that for you." A peer, a teacher, a fellow Force user. Someone to share this with. She can feel his yearning for it, but she can't. Fear squeezes her chest like a vice. She was taught that fear can lead to the Dark Side of the Force but fear is what keeps her from using the Force at all.

Maybe that makes it better somehow. All she knows for sure is that it's better this way.

"I can't use the Force," she says again, lowering her face to his so he looks her straight in the eye. "I _can't_. It's too dangerous. And Mando can't ever know, alright? This has to stay between us."

The kid babbles sadly but she swears he nods, accompanied by acceptance before his Force presence retreats fully from her. Instantly, she misses him, but this is for the best.

It's for the best.

She presses a kiss to the top of his head, mumbling against the sparse hairs, "But we can still be friends, right?"

His delighted squeal may become her new favorite sound.

Mahin goes back to the diagnostics results, the kid now nestled in her lap with his rattle. Both of them needing the nearness after what they discovered.

The ship's systems seem to be working surprisingly well. The scan only points out a sluggish nav system and a possible hiccup in the hyperdrive. She can write a simple software patch for the nav system in a few hours. The hyperdrive, however, may be a little worrying, potentially making them miss their destination by a couple planets if it gets worse. She needs to take a look through the machinery to find the root of the problem.

And she'll need better tools than what Mando has on hand to do it.

Mahin furrows her brow at the datapad for a moment before opening up a blank page to take notes. She keeps thinking of things they need to buy, too many things. Way, way too many things that Mando may not agree with, but she can at least make a list.

Sometime later, the whirr of the rear ramp lowering catches Mahin's attention, the child babbling happily as he recognizes that Mando's made it back. Multiple voices filter up from below, though, voices she doesn't recognize.

She stills, suddenly uncertain.

Setting the child down on one of the passenger seats, Mahin cautiously approaches the top of the ladder. She peeks over the side of the hatch to the lower level.

Mando already looks up at her from the bottom.

Tension eases from her shoulders. She… _might be_ a little on edge still after last night, she realizes.

"They're just here to pick up the bounties," he says softly to her unasked question. "They'll be gone in a few minutes."

She nods, feeling the need to stay quiet and out of sight. She slides to the floor next to the hatch with her back against the wall. Mando leans against the wall as well below her, facing the rest of the cargo hold to watch the guild workers while staying in her line of sight.

Gratefulness suddenly floods through Mahin as she waits. Gratefulness that she ended up here, that she didn't end up starting over alone again. She remembers the last time she had a close call like this, about five years before the fall of the Empire. She was terrified of everything and everyone she came in contact with, the paranoia making it almost impossible to sleep at night. To trust that every person next to her didn't hold a puck with her face in it.

A bit of that terror resurfaces now, sour on her tongue and turning her stomach, but it feels more manageable with Mando near. Knowing he searches for threats, too, and more than capable of handling them.

When the voices fade off into the distance with their bounties frozen in carbonite, Mando presses a button on his left vambrace to close the rear ramp and then climbs up the ladder. She gets up, backing away to pick up the child and sit down in a passenger seat with him in her lap.

"I see you two are getting along well," Mando comments, running a hand along the child's ear in greeting on his way by to sit in the pilot's seat.

Mahin suppresses a smirk. He has no idea. "He was an absolute angel."

"You mean to say that he behaves for you but for me he's worse than a rampaging bantha?"

"I never said he didn't try to get into stuff." The smirk pushes through, lips spreading across her cheeks. "But it was nothing I couldn't handle."

Mando lets out a huff that might be a laugh. He leans forward, flicking a finger against the kid's makeshift toy. "This have something to do with it?"

"A little." Taking the opening, she hands him the datapad to look over. "He needs more than spare parts, though. And we need more stuff in general if I'm going to keep this ship flying."

She lays out her plans, for getting the kid more toys that are just as important for child development as they are for keeping the little one occupied, what tools they need to take care of the hyperdrive and any future problems, and some food that she wants to get—real food that wasn't fabricated in some factory.

Mando scrolls through her list without saying a word and stays silent for several minutes after she stops talking. Mahin twists the fabric of the child's cloak in her fingers, anxiously waiting and hoping she didn't unknowingly overstep her bounds. They haven't really talked about what those are yet, she reminds herself again.

But if he wants her to take care of the kid and the ship, then they need these things.

"Most of this will be easy," he finally states, giving the datapad back to her. "The market here should have it all. The food, however, will have to wait, at least a little. Half ration packs, half fresh food to start. It'll get expensive in the long run. The only way to keep it up will be if you take on work at the ports, if you were serious about your offer."

"I was," she agrees hastily, starting to bounce in her seat with giddiness, which makes the child giggle. He likes her ideas. She can be useful to him.

"I also have a condition."

Her brow furrows seriously, nodding at him to go on. Whatever it is, she's sure she can handle it.

"You get stuff for yourself before worrying too much about the rest of this."

"But this is the stuff I need to get."

"Mahin." He leans forward, elbows on his thighs and looking at her with an intensity that burns despite the helmet. "You left home with only the clothes on your back. You need more clothes and things for yourself. You take care of yourself _first_. The rest can wait." He goes for his belt, pulling out a handful of credits, taking her hand, and pressing the money into her palm. "This is your share."

She balks, trying to pull her hand back without talking the money, but his fingers curl around her wrist to gently hold her there. Well, this feels really familiar. "I wasn't even here for those bounties you collected."

"Doesn't matter. This was the deal. You get a cut of my pay. Use it to help get you back on your feet. We'll eat some lunch and then go to the market for whatever you need."

He waits for her fingers to curl around the credits before letting her go, getting up to head back down in search of some food for them. Mahin stares after him, an odd weight settling on her chest. He's…different. She knows Mandalorians have a Creed, a code of honor. Promises mean a lot to them. Honesty. Integrity.

Trust doesn't come easy, though. Yet he works hard to integrate Mahin into his life. Harder than she thought he would.

And she really wants to integrate herself into his life, too, and the child's. She'll do whatever's needed to carve out a place here and keep it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, guys, what does this make Mahin? Is she still considered Force-sensitive? More than that? A padawan still, even though she has no plans to complete her training? Is there a name for this?
> 
> I was always under the impression that Force-sensitives don't really know they can use the Force until someone shows them how. It's not like those stories where people just randomly start developing superpowers. Luke never would have started levitating things until he got training. Without Obi-Wan and Yoda, he probably would have been relatively normal his entire life. So I wanted Mahin to have abilities, just not be all that strong yet, kind of like Grogu.
> 
> However, I also got the impression that Force abilities can be forgotten with time. That's how Ashoka made it sound when she refused to train Grogu. She thought it too dangerous and said that, so long as he held an attachment to Din, it would be better for him to not get more training and allow his powers to fade.
> 
> But Mahin is different for reasons. There's still some stuff I gotta hold close to the vest. ;)
> 
> Next chapter, we get more Din. And we get more of Mahin's thoughts on his beliefs as a Mandalorian and the beginnings of the route I wish them to take.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed, PLEASE COMMENT, and see you all next time!
> 
> Translations  
> ad'ika (little one)


	10. Carving Out a Place Pt. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is short and more of a filler chapter. I wanted to establish Mahin's knowledge of the "radical" faction of Mandalorians, Death Watch (though Mahin calls them traditionalists because she's trying to be nice), since it will greatly inform her future interactions with Din. Not all of this is necessarily correct in regards to canon. Again, I've only seen the main movies. But, you know, I tried my best, guys. Hope you still like it, even if I get some stuff wrong.
> 
> Go onward and enjoy!

The three of them sit on crates in the hold eating ration packets for lunch. It tastes so bland on Mahin's tongue. Like mushy sawdust. She can't wait to get real food. She polishes off the rest of her packet as fast as possible without gagging to get it over with and then turns to Mando, intent on asking him if he prefers chicken or pork.

The question dies on her tongue when she realizes he faces away from them, helmet tilted up just past his chin so he can eat without revealing his face.

She knows some about the Way. Melinda was teaching her. Not to get her to take on the Creed or anything. But because Mahin was curious and wanted to learn. She wanted to learn about their culture, their beliefs, because they're important to her friends. So she knows of the Resol'nare. The Six Actions, guidelines a person must abide by in order to consider themselves Mandalorian.

Wear the armor.

Speak the language.

Defend self and family.

Raise your children in the Mandalorian Way.

Contribute to the clan's welfare.

When called upon by the Mand'alor, rally to his cause.

Interpretations of the Six Actions vary among the coverts. One of the most controversial being the armor. All Mandalorians wear armor. Not just for protection but as a sign of their people. So that all who see them know them as Mando'ade.

So if wearing the armor is Creed, what does it mean to take the armor off? Especially around others who are not Mandalorian. In Mahin's understanding, it typically falls into three types.

One type believes it doesn't matter to take the armor off, especially the helmet, no matter when or around who. The armor is simply a tool, not unlike their blasters and vibroblades.

Others believe it's okay to take the helmet off but only around family and close friends. That's what Melinda's covert believes. Strangers may only know the helmet, the face of the Mandalorian people. But to keep one's face from close friends, family, their own _children_? That's unnecessary. They don't need to go that far, because ultimately it proves nothing.

Then there are those who believe that taking the armor off around anyone, _ever_ , is of the utmost blasphemy. No one may see the face under the helmet. If it happens, then the Mandalorian is disgraced and banished from the covert. They become dar'manda. They lose the right to call themselves Mandalorian, losing their heritage, their identity, and—some believe—their soul. It's considered the traditionalist view.

Well, traditionalist puts it mildly. Luca likes to use more expressive words to describe them. Like radical. Zealots. Extremists.

They're…not really liked by the rest of the Mandalorians very much.

Their traditionalist beliefs—about the armor and other things—caused a Mandalorian Civil War that ultimately led to the traditionalist faction of Mandalorians breaking away from the rest, leaving their brethren and their homeworld behind. The faction broke apart into coverts, spreading out among the stars. They never went home.

And then the Mandalorian Great Purge happened. The hunters became the hunted, Stormtroopers decimating entire coverts through numbers and technology alone. It forced all Mandalorians to scatter across the galaxy, leaving their homeworld—Mandalore—behind in a landscape of ruin now under Imperial control. The divide in the Mandalorians never healed. Not even with their shared grief.

So what does this Mandalorian believe? He said he was a foundling. What he believes will come from whatever his covert taught him.

Based on what she's observed so far, she has a suspicion.

"I don't mean to step on toes," Mahin starts slowly, setting her empty ration pack aside, "and, really, I'm only asking so I don't step on toes later. But you, um, you don't take the helmet off in front of anyone, right?"

Mando's shoulders stiffen as he takes one last bite and sets his pack aside as well. He lowers the helmet squarely back into place before turning around on his crate to face her and the kid. "That's right. I can let no one see my face."

She bites her lip, looking down at the child next to her sadly. "Not even your foundling?"

Mando follows her gaze. "No one," he repeats, reeking of sadness and regret. "Ever. This is the Way."

Her head tilts in contemplation. A traditionalist, then. And that's all he's ever known probably. Depending on how old he is, he would have been just a baby or not even born yet when the Civil War happened. And it's not like a traditional covert would ever teach foundlings that other Mandalorians have different views.

However, the regret intrigues her. If he truly believes this is the Way—the true interpretation of the Six Actions—then she would expect an answer laced with more confidence. Stated boldly. Proudly.

Sounds to Mahin like he's questioning. Because of the child.

A part of her wants to push it—the kid should know Mando's face even if he doesn't stay for long—but she respects his decision, his beliefs. And she's an outsider. She doesn't have the right.

There's always more than one path to the same destination. Her parents taught Mahin that. But it's other Mandalorians who will have to show Mando. He's probably only ever known his own covert, people with the same traditional beliefs. They'll have to find other Mandalorians with a different interpretation. Let him witness it for himself.

She aches with the wish to find Melinda and her covert again. But who knows where they ran to?

Clearing those thoughts from her head, she knocks her heels against the crate she sits on. "Alright. I'll do my best to respect that. Maybe we could come up with some kind of system for whenever you do take the helmet off? So I don't accidentally look when waking up in the morning or entering a room? Maybe even a blindfold?"

He leans back, voice sounding almost choked when he asks, "You'd do that?"

"I'm the one coming into your home." She shrugs. "I want you to feel comfortable with my presence and not be afraid that I'll see something or do something I shouldn't. I'm sure we can come up with something that won't be a hardship, for either of us."

She hops off the crate, collecting her trash, the kid's, and then taking Mando's as well, stuffing it all in the trash compactor. He doesn't move, just stares at her silently. Even when she turns back around. Her fingers fiddle with the sleeves of her coveralls where they tie together around her waist. He has such an intense gaze through the visor. Like his helmet allows him to see right through her.

What would a man like him see? A hopeless girl, clinging to her freedom and sanity? Foolishly wishing she could possibly belong by his side? She suggested a kriffing _blindfold_. She can't think of anything else sounding so desperate.

Yet she really does just want him to be comfortable with her presence. The question is, does she succeed?

"Come on," he says suddenly, getting up to go collect a satchel. "We better get moving."

She sighs deeply. Will she ever know what goes on in that bucket of his?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there you have it. Again, sorry if I got stuff wrong. I probably won't go into much greater detail than this. I want to eventually lead Din into being okay with taking the helmet off, like how season 2 ended.
> 
> You may or may not have a surprise later today. If not, then probably tomorrow.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed, PLEASE COMMENT, and see you all next time!
> 
> Translations  
> Resol'nare (the Six Actions, tenants of Mandalorian life)  
> Mand'alor (sole ruler of the Mandalorians)  
> Mando'ade (Mandalorians, plural)  
> Dar'manda (a state of not being Mandalorian, not an outsider but one who has lost his heritage and so his identity and his soul, regarded with absolute dread by most traditionally-minded Mandalorians)  
> Mandalore (home planet of the Mandalorians)


	11. Carving Out a Place Pt. 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise, another chapter! And this one is really long (for me) to make up for the last one being so short.
> 
> I struggled with this chapter. Like, a lot. It was difficult to find a balance of Mahin showing weakness and strength. I wanted to show how scared and shook-up she was after everything with the Stormtrooper but I didn't want her to be defenseless. I think I got it how I like it though?
> 
> Alright, go onward and enjoy!

"How do you stand this?" Mahin asks quietly, striding down the road at Mando's right. The kid sits in a bag Mando carries over his shoulder, strap slung crossways over his chest so the kid hangs at Mando's left hip with his head poking out. Not the best baby carrier but it makes it easier than the pram to keep the kid close in these crowds.

The market crowds make Mahin's skin crawl. Hundreds of people mill between stalls lining either side of the road, the network of market streets crisscrossing all through the south side of the city. Every available space constantly emptying and filling with shuffling feet and the hum of voices and languages all blurring together. Really, no worse than her old spaceport, but all these people make Mahin feel nervous, jittery, maybe more than a little paranoid.

Everyone _staring_ at them definitely doesn't help.

No one notices their little group at first. Not right away. But then someone looks up from the stalls, from their conversations, head turning just so. They catch the gleam of the sun shining off beskar and they freeze, just for a second, in shock and wonder. And fear.

A Mandalorian walking among them. To cause trouble? Based on the rumors spread about Mandalorians, most definitely. And so they part for him, wanting out of the way and as far from him as possible.

That's when they notice the woman walking with him. Without hesitation or trepidation. And that makes them gawk almost twice as hard, not just at Mando, but at her.

Mahin sticks close, her arm brushing Mando's every other step so she doesn't lose him. Not that anyone even attempts to walk between them but still. The stares totally creep her out.

"You learn to ignore it," Mando replies gruffly, head on a swivel. Looking for trouble or just admiring the stalls? No one can tell with the helmet, though Mahin suspects it's probably both. "They're curious. They haven't seen a Mandalorian in a long time. Most just stare."

They move through a more congested area, a popular stall with a lot of people huddled around the table that forces the path into a bottleneck. Mahin moves behind Mando, letting him take the lead to push through the people. Her hand reaches out on its own to curl into his cloak, her body pressing so close that she catches whiffs of gun oil, sweat, and something crisp—like the fresh, clean air of the forest after a storm.

Her lungs expand as far as they can, wanting to soak in that scent.

"What, uh, what about the others?" she asks to distract herself, voice almost lost in the sea of chatter and shouts and bartering, but she knows the sound amplifiers in his helmet pick her up. "The ones who don't just stare?"

They make it through the bottleneck and Mahin returns to his side. Mando's hand hovers against the small of her back, drawing her a step closer. Her breath hitches, catching more gun oil.

"Just remember," he says, hunching to bring his head closer to her ear so she can hear him better, "you're with me. All these people see that. And if anyone decides to mess with me, you, or the kid, they'll get a Whistling Bird in the face."

She lets out a surprised snort. He sounds so serious. And he probably really would do it, too. Not hesitating a second to protect them.

It helps settle her a little. As horrible as that sounds. That he would kill without hesitation to protect them.

He stops them at a stall selling clothing, all frills and flowery patterns and colors bright enough to make her go blind. Glad for the distraction, Mahin plants her hands on her hips and gives him an unimpressed glare. "Do I really seem like the kind of girl to wear this slag?"

"Um…." He shifts back and forth on his feet uncomfortably. Her brow arches and he fidgets even more. She bites back a giddy laugh. She actually makes the Mandalorian _squirm_. "No, I guess not. But you still need girl…stuff. Right?"

Her eyes scan over the collection of tables, noticing some bras and underwear laid out on one. True, she does need _some_ girl stuff. She also spots some more normal clothing further down from the frilly. Chuckling, she decides to have pity on him. "Alright, alright, this will do. Hang tight. I should only be a couple minutes."

Mahin examines the selection of clothes like she examines an engine, meticulously working out what works and what doesn't. She grabs one of the baskets the vendor left out for customers, tossing in anything that looks good and in her size. Bras, underwear, socks. Her boots are still in good shape so she doesn't bother with shoes. She's never been one of those women obsessed with shoes. She slings in more tank tops and shorts—what she prefers to wear under the coveralls. She even finds new coveralls as well. The ones she wears are rather old, covered in grease stains, burn marks, and a few tears she stitched back together herself.

When finished, Mahin turns towards the personal care items—hairbrush, deodorant, and the like. Simple necessities. With every item she adds to her basket, she adds up the prices in her head, stopping when it gets to about a third of what she has available. She makes her way to the vendor camped out on a chair with an old cash box sitting at her feet. After a few steps, though, Mando gently grabs her elbow and turns her back around so he can peer in the basket.

"That's not enough," he huffs in disapproval. "You need more than two sets of clothes."

"This stuff isn't exactly cheap, you know," she points out stubbornly.

"I live as a nomad. Even I have enough clothes for at least five days. And you need clothes for planets with cold climates." He takes her by the shoulders and turns her back towards the tables. "Don't worry about prices. I'll help pay for it."

Her eyes widen, hand flapping frantically. "No! No, don't do that. It's fine. I don't need a whole lot and anything more can wait until—"

"Look, either you pick out more stuff or I'm picking stuff from the slag." He jerks his thumb towards the piles of frilly things.

Her brow drops low over her eyes as she glowers at him with the weight of a rampaging mudhorn. It affects him absolutely none. Of course, it wouldn't. He's stared down worse than her. Even a rampaging mudhorn according to that signet emblazoned on his right pauldron.

"Pushy Mandalorian," she grumbles under her breath, stomping back to the tables to pick out more things. She grabs more tank tops, t-shirts, some actual pants so she doesn't have to wear the coveralls all the time. Shorts are okay but she doesn't particularly like leaving her legs exposed. She gets one outfit for cold weather and then two jackets.

Just to spite him, she also grabs a set of crochet hooks she finds tucked in a corner and a skein of yarn dyed a soft baby blue.

She holds the basket up to the Mandalorian and asks sarcastically, "Well? This good enough?"

"It'll do for now," he relents, sticking close to her side as he finally allows them to approach the vendor. He pays for half of it before she so much as blinks. She tries to tell him that's way too much but he just crosses his arms in front of his chest and gives her a _look_ that she can see in the particular tilt of his head.

She grumbles some more but lets it go. Once she starts earning money of her own, she'll pay him back. Even if she has to slip the money into his belt while he sleeps.

They continue on through the market, collecting bags of supplies as they go. As promised, Mando lets them buy half ration packets and half real food. They then get some toys for the kid. A teething ring, blocks, coloring supplies, a stuffed dog. Things that don't take up a whole lot of space and can easily fit in a crate when needed. The child seems interested in all of it, watching curiously as Mando packs the toys away in a bag to present to him back on the ship. Hopefully it'll keep him out of trouble for a while. Then Mahin can maybe buy him a new toy every other month or something to help keep him from growing bored.

When they get to the tools, Mahin slows down, taking her time to carefully examine everything on display. She ignores the fancy, brand-new selections that cost an arm and a leg. What the Mandalorian paid her won't cover the cost of even _one_ of those tools. But the used tools are good enough for her. A little beat up, they've gotten dirty in the bellies of engines before and they're capable of doing so again with a little love. Mahin grabs another basket to start filling up, focusing first on what she needs to specifically work on the hyperdrive and then spreading out from there.

Shiny or rusty, new tools are new tools and Mahin happily picks through her prizes like most women do purses.

Mahin gets so caught up in the giddiness of shopping that she doesn't notice the Mandalorian slipping away from her side at first. When she holds up a tool and turns her head to ask him a question about it, her heart just about freezes when she finds him gone. Her eyes whip around, scanning the nearby faces for shining beskar.

Only to find strangers.

Her breath hitches in her chest as her stomach tightens uncomfortably. No, it's okay. It's alright. He just wandered off to look at another table because she's taking so long. He got bored waiting for her. He didn't just leave her.

He didn't leave her all alone again.

The crowds seem to close in tighter around her, sucking all the air away from her lungs. She quickly takes her basket to the vendor and pays for her tools with shaking hands. Panic feels close to the surface, hot and boiling, about to spill over the edge no matter how much she tells herself that everything's fine. It's all fine. Any minute now, he'll show back up at her elbow in that silent way of his, kid babbling away in the satchel.

But tension just coils between her shoulder blades tighter and tighter.

Maker, how did she become so attached so quickly? She's been on her own so long, why does it feel so impossible all of a sudden? Like being away from him tempts trouble to find her. That someone will grab her and whisk her away at any moment.

She's been alone before. She's always been alone. And she's been just fine. She's strong. She's capable. She can take care of herself.

But for some reason, it doesn't feel like it right now. She feels like a child lost in the woods without the Mandalorian near.

Losing the security of the covert, apparently, jarred her more than she first believed. She _relied_ on them more than she believed. More than she should have.

She juggles all of her bags into one hand, her other delving into her pocket to curl her fingers around the commlink. She bites her lip, walking slowly through the crowd as she scans every face, ears searching for a modulated voice. Should she call him? Find out where he went? She doesn't want to appear needy to him but his sudden disappearance unsettles her more and more with every passing second.

He wouldn't just leave her here…right?

Wait, what if someone took _him_? And the kid?

Before that thought can completely spiral out of control, the Mandalorian says her name from behind her, completely out of nowhere. It startles a squeak out of her and she spins on her heel with rounded eyes. Her breaths whistle in and out of her throat in short puffs as she stares at him before leaving her in one big _whoosh_.

Her relief tips her forward to rest her forehead on his pauldron.

He's here, he's safe, him and the kid are both safe and they didn't leave her.

"Mahin?" he says softly, full of concern. His hand raises hesitantly as if to hold her arm or hip or something but pauses in the air halfway.

"Sorry," she mumbles, taking in a bracing breath before standing straight again with a forced smile. "Sorry, I just…didn't know where you were."

"I'm sorry, I—"

"No, no," she cuts him off with a shake of her head, wavy hair brushing against her shoulders. "No, it's not your fault. I overreacted. I…." She takes in a shaky breath to try to settle herself, fingers clenching into the pants of her coveralls. Her heart still roars in her ears. Adrenalin slow to wane. "Sorry, I don't mean to be clingy like this."

Mando looks up and down the street before taking her elbow and gently leading her away from the crowds. Doesn't say anything. Doesn't do anything to give away what he's thinking. Just walks. She goes with him numbly, head falling to watch her feet drag along the ground. They go down an empty side street for a semblance of privacy. People pass the alley's opening but none glance in. Like they don't exist.

Mahin bites her lip, still not looking up. He's going to yell at her for freaking out. He's not going to want her to come along anymore, she messed up….

Mando's hand suddenly disappears from her arm as they stop. Instantly, she misses the warmth, and just as fast she tries to quash that feeling down.

His feet shuffle in front of her just in her line of sight with her gaze lowered. She watches silently as his hand reaches out, completing its journey this time to curl a finger under her chin and tilt her head up to look at him. "Talk to me, Mahin," he implores softly.

Staring into his visor, that gentle plea hanging between them, she finds her mouth opening before she can really think of what to say. "I lived for years on my own. Almost two decades. And then the covert came and I…suddenly, I wasn't alone anymore. I had friends. I had people looking out for me. And I think I became complacent. Reliant on that protection they offered. Too reliant." She licks her lips, the words tumbling out faster and faster. "And now they're gone and I'm alone again and yet, I'm not. You're here, and I can feel myself wanting to develop this unhealthy attachment after everything that happened. But I won't!" she adds hastily, hand flapping uselessly between them as she stares up at him pleadingly. "I won't, I swear, I'll get over it in a couple days and everything will be fine, I—"

"Hey, hey," he catches her hand waving around, his large hand engulfing hers. The leather of his gloves feels smooth, soft. Thick and sturdy, but still she can feel the heat of him through the fabric. What would his skin feel like? Soft and smooth as well? Or rough, covered in callouses from the labor of a Mandalorian and bounty hunter? "It's okay."

"Sorry," she murmurs again.

"You have nothing to apologize for. What you went through yesterday was traumatic."

Her lips twist into a grimace as she whispers, "It's not the worst thing I've ever been through. And I was fine before. I don't want to feel like I _need_ to rely on you. Like I can't take care of myself. And I don't want you to feel that you've gone from babysitting one child to two. But I…I don't know. The panic won't go away."

She hates feeling so helpless. And the paranoia and the constant fear. She may not have much of a life, but this is no way to live and she doesn't want to let the fear win.

She's a survivor. She's always been a survivor. And she can be one again now.

But it's been five years since the Empire fell. Since the constant need to look over her shoulder started to fade. A part of her forgot what all of this was like.

After long moments of silence, Mando squeezes her hand. "Come on. Let's go."

Not releasing her hand, he tugs her back towards the market. But instead of moving further into the stalls he turns them back towards the Razor Crest.

"W-We don't have to go back yet," she babbles insistently. "I told you, I'll be fine, we can finish getting supplies."

"We are done, Mahin." He holds up the bags he carries in his other hand, new ones along with her clothes that he insisted on carrying for her. "We have everything we need. Let's head back to the Crest."

She nods, suddenly feeling so tired and ready to be done with this day.

The entire trip back to the ship, Mando never lets go of her hand. She fights with herself with every step, a part of her relishing in the contact and another wanting to let go and reassert her independence because she doesn't kriffing need to have her hand held like a child, dank farrik.

It feels nice, though. It feels so kriffing nice and she can't remember the last time someone touched her like this. She shared touches and hugs and soft moments with Melinda and Luca and others in the covert but this feels…different.

This Mandalorian is different. She can't really pinpoint how, or why.

She wants to. And so she keeps hold of his hand the whole way back.

When they reach the Razor Crest, they find men unloading crates from a transport. Mahin frowns at the strangers but Mando shows no sign of alarm and so she assumes he expected them. He pulls her to a stop several meters away before placing the kid in her free arm. "Hang tight here for a minute," he tells her, taking the bags from her hand so she can wrap both arms around the kid. "I need to talk with them for a minute and then I want to show you something."

"What are they dropping off?" she asks curiously, eying the crates and wondering what he could have ordered that would be that big.

"I had some work I wanted done to the ship. Some," his voice turns aloof and she can practically hear the smirk, "equipment installed. I need to show them where everything goes so they can get to work putting it in."

Her eyes narrow. Well, someone's in a cryptic mood. But he sounds strangely pleased with himself and so she lets him keep his secrets for now, heading off into the field to let the child wander through the grass. The blades almost reach the top of his head and she giggles, keeping an eye on the pointed ears poking out of the grass like twin dorsal fins as the child runs in aimless circles.

A few minutes later, she hears the hard thump of the Mandalorian's boots walking up behind her followed by a strange swooshing sound, like something stabbing into the dirt. She turns around to find him pushing a large target into the ground, a bullseye secured to a pole around the same height as her.

"What's this?" she asks. The kid walks up to it as well, looking almost straight up at the bullseye as his tiny hands clench around the pole.

Mando scoops him up to cradle him on his forearm before the kid can get any ideas. "It's your target practice."

Her brow furrows. "Target practice? What am I practicing?"

"This." He pulls a blaster tucked into a holster out from where he was hiding it behind his back, offering it to her.

Her eyes go wide like it's a shiny new tool, fingers itching to touch but she holds herself back. "For me?"

He holds it out further, encouraging her to take it. "Yes. For you."

She takes it reverently, running her fingers along the leather of the holster before pulling out the pistol. It feels good in her hand, fitting perfectly in her palm. Too small for him—though a blaster is a blaster when you really need one—and she suspects he bought blaster and holster both for her today when he slipped away.

Mando steps close, so close, setting the child down at their feet. He takes the holster from her and kneels in the dirt. His forehead almost brushes against her stomach. Would she feel the beskar through her tank top? Would it be warm or cold? Her stomach tightens in anticipation, wanting to lean forward, close the distance, but the inches remain between them. He taps one of her feet to get her to spread her legs further apart.

Her breath hitches, heat rising to her face. She complies without a word.

"Right-handed or left-handed?" he asks, calm and assured.

Is the proximity doing nothing to him? Because Mahin feels like her skin's going to boil right off her face with her flush and her heart flutter right out of her chest, burst through her ribcage in its haste for freedom.

Kriff, why is the mushy imagery in her head so violent?

He looks up at her, head cocked to the side, and she realizes belatedly that he asked her a question. "R-Right-handed," she croaks out, biting her lip to keep from speaking more because she knows she'll only make a fool of herself.

His hands go for her right thigh, securing the straps of the holster in place. She blinks hard, swearing she imagines it, but no. No, she does see it.

His hands shake slightly as they work. Brushing against her—lingering—more than they should. She wouldn't notice if she wasn't looking for it.

How can that make the embarrassment better and worse at the same time?

But at least she knows—he's affected by this, too. Something simmers in the air between them like a mirage, blurring in and out of focus and threatening to disappear if she gets too close.

Does she want it to come into focus? Or would it be best to leave it alone? Mirages are just an illusion, after all. They're not real. They don't last. They don't stay.

No one ever stays.

Mando picks up the kid again and stands to his feet to back away from her. "How does that feel?"

The distance helps clear her head a little. She takes her first full breath in what feels like hours. "It, uh, it feels good." She flexes her leg, lifting her foot up and down and bending at the knee to make sure the straps don't move. "Comfortable. Thanks."

"Good," he says with a nod, clearing his throat a little. "So you, uh, said you had some training?"

"That's right."

"Any of that include shooting?"

Her lips slowly curl up in a smirk. She expertly releases the clip on the blaster, checking the energy cartridge before sliding it back into place with a slap of her hand. She cocks the gun with a high-pitched whine, primed and ready. "A bit, yeah."

"Then show me what you've got." He jerks his head towards the target and backs away further so she can take up position in front of it a few meters away.

She settles her feet into a solid stance, holding the gun out with both hands and taking aim. She can feel the memory of hands on her shoulders, hands so much bigger than hers. First her father's, teaching her how to protect herself before she ever understood she'd need to.

_"Brace your feet. Don't keep them too close together and keep your arms rigid. If you don't prepare properly for the kickback, you'll end up falling flat on your back."_

She takes in a deep breath and releases it slowly. Her father taught her the basics but Luca showed her precision, how to hone the raw talent.

_"Watch your target's movements. Learn them. Know them. Anticipate them. And when the time comes, take the shot without hesitation. Hesitation will only get you shot first."_

On her next exhale, she squeezes the trigger, hitting the dead center of the bullseye. She fires again and again, hitting the same spot every time until the blaster fire burns a smoking hole right through the metal target.

Mando lets out an impressed whistle as she lowers the gun, slipping it into her new holster. "You're quite the shot."

Pride settles warmly in her chest. Sure, a stationary target is a lot different than real combat—real _people_ —but the praise is still nice to hear. Especially from someone as skilled as him. "I had good teachers."

"Let's see what else they taught you."

A shift of the Force is her only warning. She doesn't even hear the swishing of grass as he sets the kid back down or when his feet launch him forward. A warning pulses in the Force and instinct takes over, ducking just in time to miss Mando's swinging fist. She scrambles backwards, almost stumbling but then she catches herself and falls into a familiar fighting stance.

Mando's head tilts in what she thinks is approval. He falls into a fighting stance as well, lifting a hand and curling his fingers to invite her to make the next move.

She flashes him a dangerous grin, heart hammering excitedly in her chest, and she thinks she feels actual trepidation from him.

Her body flows into a familiar dance. This is the one thing she can't keep herself from using the Force in. She's not sure what it is about fighting. The threat of hands or feet or blades flying at her. The overwhelming need to survive that courses through her veins to override everything else. The Force just opens up to her when she finds herself in a fight, flowing all around her and in her without ever consciously calling for it. It's just there and there's no denying it or shoving it away like she normally would. She sees its ebb and flow, how it fluctuates with the slightest shift of Mando's feet or twist of his hand, giving away where he'll move, where he'll be five steps ahead to give her an edge that puts most opponents flat on their backs within five minutes.

It's a good thing she doesn't find herself in a brawl often. Normally she simply flees so she doesn't have to risk using the Force, but Mando wants to see what she's capable of.

So she lets him have it.

Mando catches on quick that she's not exactly an amateur. She actually gets a surprised squawk out of him when she lashes out a kick to the back of his knee not covered by the armor. His leg buckles. His knee hits the ground and she launches herself onto his back, wrapping her arms around his neck in a chokehold and squeezing. Not too hard to actually cut off his windpipe but enough to get the point across.

That she _could_.

She brushes her nose against the side of his helmet where his ear would be. "Impressed yet?"

He does something with his hands, a move so fast even the Force doesn't catch it in time and then she finds herself laying on her back in the grass, Mando hovering over her with his forearm pressed to her neck and her arms trapped to her sides by his knees straddling her.

Fire tingles up her spine.

"I am impressed," he says slightly out of breath, smile evident in his voice. "But you still have a lot to learn."

"There's always more to learn," she replies, remembering Melinda telling her the same words months ago. "The day you decide you know it all is the day someone will get the better of you."

"Spoken like a true Mando'ad." He shifts off of her. Instead of standing, however, he surprises her by rolling to lay on his back in the grass next to her, their forearms touching.

They lay in silence for a long time, listening to their labored breathing even out again, the soft _swooshing_ of the grass swaying in the breeze, clanking as the laborers work on the Razor Crest. The child's babbling drifts around them as he explores, never wandering so far that they feel the need to go after him. Eventually, the child joins them himself, sitting down in the space between Mando's arm and his hip to lean back against Mando's side.

Mahin's muscles ache from the sudden exertion of their impromptu sparing match. She revels in it. It reminds her of what she can do. It reminds her of the power she holds, not just in the Force, but in her own ability. Her own strength.

She's not defenseless.

"Thank you," she whispers, idly threading grass through her fingers.

"I knew you had strength the first moment I saw you." She hears the metal of his armor sliding against the ground and she turns her head to see him already looking at her. The beskar gleams in the afternoon light. Almost blindingly so but she refuses to look away.

"How did you know that?" she whispers, like the knowledge is the deepest secret no one else can know.

"You stood in front of me without fear. Which doesn't happen often. I knew there was something different about you. And then I saw you with the covert. How relaxed you were. At home with them. One of them. And I could see it. You have mandokar."

Her brow furrows curiously as she turns to lay on her side facing him, arm bent to pillow beneath her head. "Mandokar? What's that?"

"It means you have the right stuff. You exhibit the virtue of the Mando'ade." He gives his hand to the child, letting the little one play with his fingers. He makes a valiant attempt to take Mando's glove off but his little fingers can't quite manage it. He lets out an adorable frustrated huff as he keeps trying. "It's hard to explain in Basic. It's more of a feeling. A jumble of feelings."

She hums in encouragement to go on, her curiosity of his culture never waning.

Mando remains quiet, head turning away to look up at the sky. Not like he won't answer but like he takes his time to seriously think through his thoughts before speaking. "It's like a blend of loyalty and tenacity. And aggression, but not, like, anger. Not something so negative. Fierceness, maybe? And a sort of…lust for life. A willingness to do all that you can to keep yourself alive and to keep your clan alive. To protect those closest to you."

Her lips part on a small gasp, fingers clenching in the dirt. "And you think I have that? Even after today?"

After she showed so much weakness?

"I know you do." His helmet turns back to her, voice filled with such conviction. No room for doubt. "It's why I wanted you to come with me and the child. You just needed to be reminded of it."

Mahin traces her fingers along the blaster on her thigh again, the tremulous emotions she's been holding in since leaving the Razor Crest melting away as his surety washes over her. He's right. She does have that willingness to keep herself alive, and she has the skills to do it, too.

She'll be alright. With or without the covert. With or without this Mandalorian. Because she _is_ capable. She _is_ strong. She _is_ a fighter. A survivor. And though she's been tossed back into the storm, she knows she can weather it again, just as she has many times before.

She _can_. Even when it feels like she can't, she can, because her true strength never left her.

Slowly, she reaches out a hand to lightly squeeze Mando's fingers, interrupting the child's play. Mando's fingers twitch. Hesitating. She holds her breath, just waiting for him to pull away. Then, just as slowly, his fingers curl around hers, offering a quiet strength and warmth she suspects he likes to keep hidden behind the armor. Not letting anyone see.

But he gives it to her freely.

Not to be left out, the child plops his three-fingered hands down on theirs with a happy coo, making Mahin's chest squeeze even tighter. She looks up into the child's big, dark eyes. Just as dark as the glass visor that hide's Mando's own eyes. She looks between these two people who plopped down into her life and she swears she feels their reassurance, their solidarity. Even from the child, so young in form but old in years, understanding more than a child should.

They're in this together. Mahin knows she doesn't have to rely on them. She is not so weak that she has to. But she can use their strength to make herself stronger.

"Come," Mando says after a time, squeezing her fingers and then helping her to her feet with the child cradled in the crook of his elbow. "The workers are done."

She didn't even notice the receding voices of the laborers, leaving only one man behind to collect payment. Mando hands the man a handful of credits and bids him on his way before motioning Mahin into the belly of the ship.

Her boots echo off the metal floor, the shaded coolness and cycling air of the ship causing a chill to run along her sun-warmed skin. She thinks of the new clothes she bought today, including a jacket she selected with the chilled air of the ship in mind, and looks about for where Mando placed her bags. They don't sit in immediate sight. They could be in one of the crates, but the crates don't look to be disturbed. The only other place could be the cockpit, but she can't imagine him putting her bags there.

She turns to the Mandalorian as the ship ramp closes, shutting them inside. "Where, uh, where's my stuff?"

"In here." He passes her, setting the child down on a crate as he goes to the far corner of the ship. He opens the door to the storage compartment across from the ladder.

Ah, of course. Where else to put extra luggage but a storage compartment? Maybe she can organize the space a bit more, commandeer a crate for her stuff without taking too much space away from the supplies he keeps in there.

But when he opens the door and steps back for her to take a look, she finds all the supplies completely cleared out. One crate remains in the corner, and across from it to the right of the door is a bed.

It takes up half the space of the storage compartment—no, her room, this is _her_ _room_ —almost twice as big as the Mandalorian's own bed. It has a padded mattress on top that looks comfortable, sheets and blankets and a pillow folded neatly on top, along with her bags from the market. Drawers are built into the bottom of the bed for additional storage and her throat closes up so tight it aches.

"You—this is…you did this for me?" Her face goes slack with the emotions swirling around in her stomach, not sure which one to voice first. Shock? Disbelief? Gratitude? A polite but firm refusal because this is a lot, this couldn't have been cheap and she never wanted him to rearrange his life for her so literally.

"You're my crew," he says as if he can hear those clattering thoughts and the one, simple truth answers them all, "and you need a place to sleep."

"B-But this is so _nice_. It should be the captain's quarters. You should have this, I'll be fine with the sleeping compartment—"

"No," he cuts off with a growl, making her mouth clank shut. Not truly aggressive but it startles her. "This is yours and that's final."

She nods mutely. She really wasn't looking forward to sleeping on the floor—or trying to find a way to take turns with the sleeping compartment if he would be up for that—but she didn't expect him to do _this_.

He taps the doorframe. "There's a keypad inside and outside the room so you can lock the door. Set the code to whatever you want. Sometimes we'll have other people on the ship, so you can keep them out when you want. I have an override in case of emergencies, of course, but I promise to respect your privacy and not use it unless, well…."

The corner of her mouth crooks up. "Unless it's an emergency?"

"Right," he huffs. She can hear his answering smile. She imagines it being a touch boyish. Shy. "I take my meals in the cockpit. If the cockpit door is closed, uh," he scratches at the back of his neck awkwardly, "knock, I guess."

Mahin tries hard not to laugh. He sounds so far out of his depth, but he's trying. He's trying for her. "And what about in the mornings or something? Is there, like, a time when you want me to stay in my room so you have time to yourself? You know, take the helmet off for a while and stuff?"

He shakes his head. "No, don't worry about that. I never take the helmet off unless in the refresher or eating."

Mahin balks. "You don't even take it off when sleeping? Seriously? Doesn't that hurt your neck?"

The kid waddles over to them, stopping right at Mando's feet. She gets the feeling he rarely likes to stay wherever Mando puts him. He looks up at his guardian, small hands slapping the shin guards of Mando's armor with an adorable little pout to his mouth. It doesn't take much more than those big eyes set in that adorable face for Mando to give in and pick the kid up. He holds him high on his shoulder, allowing the little one to bury his face in the warm fabric of Mando's cloak where it gathers around his neck.

"The kid sleeps in my compartment with me," Mando says softly as the kid lets out a yawn, three fingers of one hand curling around the edge of his breastplate as his eyes droop closed. "I have to leave the helmet on. But it's nothing I'm not used to."

Mahin shifts on her feet, biting the inside of her cheek as she glances inside her room. "I could, uh, I mean, we could start keeping him in my room? I'm sure we could find a place to hang that hammock."

"No," he gets out hastily, so fast and urgent it makes Mahin's lips twitch up in a suppressed smile. He clears his throat, shoulders hunching a little higher in what she suspects to be a rare show of embarrassment. "No, uh, that's fine. He stays with me."

She smiles softly at him which seems to put him at ease. Turning to her bags, she starts sifting through her belongings. "Alright, I guess I'll get settled in. Afterwards, I can get started on giving the Crest a thorough once-over with my shiny new tools."

Mando nods, backing out of her doorway. "I'll let you get to it, then. Let me know if you need anything."

"Vor entye," she says as he leaves, stomach fluttering in abject joy with the realization that she can keep learning Mando'a. She can keep learning about Mandalorians and their culture and maybe, someday, she'll find Melinda's covert again and will be able to speak with them in their language. Tell them about the things she's seen on her adventures, show Luca her new blaster, tell them how much she misses them. How much she loves them.

They're out there, somewhere.

It's a big universe. And she plans on seeing as much of it as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, lots of stuff to unpack.
> 
> I like the idea that Mando would try really hard to make a place for Mahin on his ship. I've seen lots of fics where his companion/partner sleeps on the floor in the hold, which never really sits right with me. He tried all he could to make sure the kid is comfortable on the ship. Constructing that make-shift pram and giving him a little hammock; I think he would do just as much for her. So she gets her own room (which he will be moving into with her eventually, don't you worry).
> 
> With the Force helping her fight, I don't know if that's really a thing, exactly. But if the Force can help Luke block blaster shots while blindfolded then it should help Mahin dodge fists. Idk, makes sense to me and I'm sticking with it.
> 
> Mahin crochets cause I crochet and I think I've been craving a new project lately and so this happened. And it gave me a really cute idea for a future chapter so, yeah, crocheting in space is a thing now.
> 
> Speaking of future chapters, this is the end of the initial setup. When I first started writing with the intent of making this a one-shot collection, I didn't expect the beginning to turn out so long and connected. What can I say? I usually write full-on stories. Old habits die hard. But after this, we are entering one-shot territory. I'm going to try to keep them in chronological order. If I do end up writing out of order I'll likely rearrange any chapters already posted and make a note at the top of the chapter. Some of them may be in multiple parts again, especially if a plot bunny runs away with me, and they'll be marked as such.
> 
> Next chapter might not be up for a while. I have a long week at work ahead of me. But I'll try not to make it longer than two weeks.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed, PLEASE COMMENT, and see you all next time!
> 
> Translations  
> Mando'ad (Mandalorian, singular)  
> Mandokar (the right stuff, the epitome of Mandalorian virtue, a blend of aggression, tenacity, loyalty, and a lust for life)  
> Mando'ade (Mandalorians, plural)  
> Vor entye (thank you, lit. "I accept a debt")


End file.
